


l'appel du vide

by anniemcfly



Category: The Beatles
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-05-25 12:58:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14977643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anniemcfly/pseuds/anniemcfly
Summary: "L'appel du vide" is a French expression used when we have a strange will to do something that will certainly be self-destructive. Like, for example, the urge to throw ourselves when we're on the top of a building, even though we know it will be fatal.It was basically a very well-done summary of my feelings for John Lennon so many years ago; I knew it would hurt in the end, but I couldn't help the growing attraction I felt for the coppery-haired boy, even if I wanted to."L'appel du vide" in literal translation means "the call of the void," and this is how I felt without him; as if the vacuum summoned and consumed me, until there was nothing left.





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> so, guys, this is my first mclennon fanfiction and it's based basically in some tumblr theories and a bit of stuff I made up
> 
> well, just keep in mind that english is not my first language, so if you see poor grammar and some mistakes here and there, just let me know so I can correct it ;)
> 
> this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n0zO0ga7Tnw&feature=youtu.be is a booktrailer that a friend of mine did for me
> 
> well, I hope you enjoy the story xxx

A lot of relevant things were happening in the little Liverpool that summer of 1957. The Anderson, for example, had just bought their first television set, and the whole neighborhood took advantage of it to watch something in one of those marvelous machines for the very first time, delighted with the capacity of a little box to create images. Mrs. Tully had just been widowed and then proposed in a very short period of time, which was a big gossip for the ladies in the neighborhood who commented about the fact maliciously while washing the clothes of their respective families. Little Timothy Turner was taking his first steps in the living room of his family, who applauded the achievement with big smiles. It made him weep with shock for he wasn't familiar with such loud noises.

But of all these important facts that I have just listed, perhaps one would overcome them.

After all, July 6 would not really be a landmark in history if only these were his characteristic events. They might as well have happened July 5 or 7, and nothing would have really changed.

But it was July 6. A church fair was taking place, and several residents of the quiet Liverpool stretched out in the scorching summer sun to watch the sights; boys played hoops and won stuffed animals for their girlfriends, children ate cotton candy and insisted that their mothers let them play, tired parents rolled their eyes...

That's when I met him.

I can not say it was anything special at first; in fact, I didn't even give much credit to the boy with a coppery sand-blond hair when he came on stage with his band that didn't really looked like it was formed by boys who knew what the seven musical notes were.

I was sitting next to the place where I had bought an ice cream that slowly melted. I was carrying my white jacket with one hand while tasted the cone with the other, the guitar resting on my thigh, complained internally about the heat. I sat up thinking I'd hear some boring  _country_  coming out of that  _skiffle_  band. I closed my eyes and let my head fall back, tired for having spent the whole night in plain sight of a friend who made me stay up late at a boring party for a girl who didn't want him.

At least I had a laugh.

"I'm John Lennon..." The coppery haired boy announced after a few pranks that I did not really paid attention to. "And we are The Quarrymen" then they began to play.

I opened my eyes instantly as I recognized the song;  _Come Go With Me_. Some of the verses were not in the original version, so I assumed the kid didn't know the lyrics completely and had invented those. I instantly dropped the rest of the cone in the bin and approached some acquaintances who were ahead. I nodded to the rhythm of the song and watched the improvised stage with more interest.

I looked at the blond-sand boy, now with more attention; was certainly a remarkable figure in his red flannel T-shirt tucked into his elbows and his  _teddy boy_ -style hair. I had seen him on the bus before, and certainly thought he was cool. He had a crooked smile as he sang melodiously, exuding a powerful and even slightly irritating confidence.

There was something about him. Obviously the band were not experienced at all, but I had to bend my arm.

I decided I wanted to meet that John Lennon guy.


	2. coup de foudre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Paul have their first proper meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "coup de foudre" is a French expression which in literal translation means "lightning bolt", but is also used as a way of representing "the moment you fall in love with someone"
> 
> it's kind of an irony in this context
> 
> hope you enjoy it xxx

The midday sun was punishing me. I was standing in the front door of one of the only restaurants near my house, where I was supposed to meet the coppery haired I met the day before. I could see people frown as they passed me and stared at the guitar that hung on my back; certainly not the most common of objects to take to a place like that. Checked the clock on the local wall and found that John Lennon was undeniably late, and what appeared to be the restaurant manager looked at me, too, undeniably irritated by the fact that I just stood there without asking for anything.

I even went so far as to really consider just going away and forgetting that story when I heard the indistinguishable voice of the boy who had invited me.

"Hey, _you"_  it was a rather sharp timbre, but there was still beauty in it as he demonstrated with his  _skiffle_  band the day before. I wring my nose at the way the boy said "you". It was casual, but the impression was that he didn't even remember my name... Which was a lie.

After all, when we first met after the Quarrymen performance, I impressed him with my guitar skills; so much so that even though I didn't give him my number, John found a way to get it from the phone book - which indicated that he remembered my name. -, and that basically sums up what led to that meeting.

"You're late." I said simply. From Lennon's smile, I knew he didn't care.

"Brought your guitar. Great. Let's go." and he was walking again, without even bothering to explain where that path would take us. I just shrugged and followed, wouldn't contest the leader of the band that wanted to get in.

I watched the way John walked; was an imposing and yet unconcerned form, as if he could take the time he needed and the others would wait for him. He behaved like a pompous lion, being the center of attention, exuding the word "cool." As if the world were too small for Lennon – and maybe it really was.

When we arrived in a square, the boy simply sat with his back against a tree. I hesitated for a second before holding my guitar and sitting in front of him.

"Well...?" I started questioning, wondering what the pretensions of the leader of The Quarrymen were. He just lit his cigarette with all the calmness of the world.

It almost made me roll my eyes, really. It seemed like he was mocking of me all the time through actions. Lennon gave a heavy swallow before letting all the smoke out of his lungs, exhaling. Laid his eyes on mine, as if only then was seeing my face for the first time.

Well, I would soon find out that he was an bloody nearsighted man who couldn't see two feet ahead of him, but refused to wear glasses and ruin his _teddy boy_  style, so he also sought to behave as if could see everything perfectly. He rubbed his eyes, however, feeling them shrink by the high luminosity of the place. He tried to focus them on me, even though he still couldn't get a proper sharpness considering the distance of our faces.

"You want to join me band, I suppose, right?" I nodded quickly. But isn't that obvious?! Why on Earth would I wait in the hot midday sun for half an hour a boy who's not even nice to be around if wasn't for that?!

"Yes."

"Well..." Lennon's head lolled to the left, but he didn't look away, even though he couldn't tell if my eyes were brown or green because of his myopia. "You're going to have to teach me how to play the guitar."

It confused me.

I had seen him play the day before. It was apparent that he didn't have great skills with the instrument since he played ukulele chords, but he didn't seem to me to be the kind of guy that would ask for my help. I softened the expression, however. Felt the evil side of my conscience instigate me to make the annoying boy who had put on me since we exchanged the first words implored me for help.

"You know how to play the guitar."

"I can still improve. Argh, come on, McCartney, you don't strike me as the patient type, right?"

"But why should I waste the time we could use rehearsing to teach someone who already knows how to play?" I held on to the urge to laugh with the help of a pinch on my right leg, which prevented me from giving even a smile, even though my voice had been half-caught by the features of my amusement with Lennon's expression – that, for the first time, hadn't the greatest self-confidence in the world.

"Because I don't know how to do it right!" John snorted, handing in the stitches, only finally realizing what were the intentions behind the eyes that he couldn't properly see. "Happy now?!"

"And what would be the second condition?"

"You must not tell anyone about it." It was my turn to smile sideways, as the coppery haired used to do. "So we have an agreement, Mr. McCartney?"

"Mr. John Lennon." I answered in the same mocking tone as the older boy. "You can be sure we have an agreement."

"Great." He said at last, still assessing me as if were trying to read me completely. I positioned the guitar and stared at his arm, wondering what would I teach him first. "Oh, but we're not starting now!" he answered, putting his hand on the strings to keep me from moving on with whatever harmony I was about to start playing. "We have somewhere to go, actually." He stood up, offering me his hand. "It's just a bus ride from here, so I guess we better get going."

_"We?"_  I asked, watching him from below, the boy nodded.

"I'm going to introduce the new member of The Quarrymen to society, obviously!"

"Didn't I meet the guys yesterday?"

"Yeah, but you haven't been to a _party_  with us yet. Come on, it'll be cool! Lots of girls and free drinks. It's the birthday of a friend of mine." he smiled invitingly, looking at me expectantly. I think he was excited to brag about having a member of the band that knew how to play for a change.

"Well, I can't." said at last, nibbling at my lip to see the expressive disappointment in the features of the coppered haired.

"Why?"

"I have... Huh... Stuff to do. With other friends."

"Then why would you give me lessons if you have somewhere else to be?" John raised an eyebrow, catching me in my lie.

"I was just going to teach you something very quick so you could practice alone!" found the perfect excuse in less time than I had anticipated. Point to McCartney. "Look, tomorrow you'll call and tell me where you live and I'll come to your house. For classes, right?"

Then John's expression softened to an indifferent, and the boy shrugged. He supposed that I would die of the urge to go to a party with a nice guy like him, and he was not too accustomed to being denied things. He wouldn't let up, though. Fuck me if I didn't want to go with him.

Pathetic.

Predictable.

"Whatever, your lost. I'll call you tomorrow." and left, leaving me alone on a lawn with a guitar in my lap.

I sighed and tossed my head back thinking how stupid it would sound if I had said that my father forbade me to go to parties without his prior permission and without someone he knew. Soon I was already on my way back home, humming a melody with the guitar in my hands. My younger brother, Mike, was waiting for me at the door with an enthusiastic smile. He ran towards me as he saw me coming in through the garden gate.

"How did it go?! You did it?!" he almost screamed. I put my index finger in front of my lips demanding silence, daddy had just come home from work and hated it when his afternoon nap was interrupted. He'd been very tired for the overtime he'd done since Mom passed.

I think it was his way of distraction, staying away from home. Which was very sad, since I missed the music, even trying to fill that void with mine. He remembered her when he played, and I was not as talented as my father.

"Yeah, Mike. I joined the band." the answer came with another squeak, a hug and a complaint on my part.


	3. lion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Paul make a deal

The afternoons at John's were quick and fun. I didn't really know him very well, but the copperhead was not at all an asshole as he appeared to be, and time seemed to moves faster when we were together. Even with all the angry yelling of Aunt Mimi – who was the guardian of the older one – about how we made too much noise, soon expelling us to the porch.

On that particular day, I was busy tuning my guitar. Had changed the strings the day before, and they insisted on tune-up.

"Paul..." Lennon called to me, I looked up at the halter.

"Huh?"

"Why do ye like rock'n'roll?" he asked. I narrowed my eyes without really understanding, so the older one developed his claim. "I mean, yer all... Clean. Rock is about making a mess, freedom. You don't really look like a guy who breaks rules."

"It's not about style. It's about the music, mate." I answered promptly. "You don't have to go around acting like a retarded child to like rock." Lennon raised an eyebrow, but didn't really feel offended. "And you're making a mistake again. Come on, John, E short is not that hard." I approached, touching the sand-blond's fingers and adjusting them by the arm of the instrument. Our gazes met and he repeated the chord, this time successfully.

"Why don't we play at yer house? Is your mother like Mimi and hates having a rockstar in the family?" he said mockingly, which made me swallow hard.

"I think she would enjoy it, actually."

"Huh?"

"My father is usually resting at this time of the day." I sketched a Major Chord in my guitar's arm, wanting to just change the subject. "Can you do it?" he nodded and tried to repeat it, which made me straighten his fingers once more.

"That hurts."

"You get used to it." I gave him a confident smile and played the chord, he soon followed me kind of awkwardly.

After training for endless hours, I decided to announce that it was enough and certainly the next day we would continue. Was already getting up from the hardwood floor to go home when John stopped me.

"Actually, I... I kind of wanted ye to go to a place with me." I raised a questioning eyebrow.

"A place?"

"Yes, a surprise." he coughed. "Come on, McCartney. It's for the band. And besides, I'm a friend to everyone but you. Don't you think it's a good idea to hang out with me to get to know each other better? Because all I know about you is that you're a hangman for me fingers!"

I could not help a small laugh.

"Unless ye don't want to lose yer good-boy reputation by being seen around with me." Lennon said the words almost defensively, as if he'd realized only then that that was probably the reason I avoided him outside guitar lessons.

"God, John, no!" I sighed. "We won't be back late, okay?"

"I swear on Elvis's behalf." he said to me with his right hand marking an "x" on the left side of his chest, where his heart was.

★★★

"Okay, where are ye really taking me?" my eyebrow was raised as I followed the older one. The sun was about to set and I had no idea where we were.

I avoided that particular part of the town because my father was strictly clear that he didn't want me wandering in a place full of bums with no future that would surely drag his oldest son to the bottom of the well.

But when it came to John, things were different. Not that I really believed in his promise that we would come back early, I knew he wasn't punctual at alal and that he never followed the rules dictated to him. In short, it was very remarkable that Lennon was an incorrigible rebellious questioner of authority, so I didn't dare to tell him that I wasn't supposed to be in that place because it sounded ridiculous and I positively wanted to know him better.

Despite being an arrogant bastard, the copperhead was fun and always bring back a part of me more confident, that refused to simply lower its head to him as most did. Aside from that, I could very well use a friend due to the fact that I had few.

"Save your voice, McCartney, I am not saying a word." affirmed the boy, without even looking away from the path we followed to focus on me only once.

I rolled my eyes, supposing it was useless to try to make him say something. Looked around and saw that the neighborhood wasn't as marginalized as my father had implied. Of course, it was possible to see some clearly drunk and dirty-looking faces, but nothing too absurd.

"Come on, princess, hurry up if you want to get there today!" my annoying fellow guitarrist took my hand and almost dragged me up the street.

"Princess? Is that serious?"

"Shh!" he turned quickly to show his forefinger in front of his lips, which was received by a middle finger on my part.

Was already tempted to ask again if we were close to reach the destination when, suddenly, Lennon stopped his hurried pace in front of a pub-like spot. I had never really entered a pub, and felt nervous again for breaking the rules imposed by my father following the door inside with my almost-friend who constantly told me to hurry.

"Take it easy, John, for God's sake!" I snorted as we made our way down the stairs until we stopped in the middle of a virtually empty hall, except for a few men who were smoking and chatting.

"Look who decided to show up!" one of them applauded with clear irony before putting out his cigarette in an ashtray and getting up. He looked no more than twenty-five, probably not the owner of the place. "You're late, Lennon. And who's this?

"This, Mr. Camp, is the new member of me band." he said quietly, as if he didn't care for the tone of debauchery that the man had used while I felt somewhat insecure by it.

"And in what day care did you get it from?" the other men laughed together with Mr. Camp as John lit a cigarette.

"The one who made Liverpool's best guitar player." he said giving an encouraging pat on my back, I tried very hard not to look scared to find myself in that situation and to exude confidence like John, but I suspected that I didn't really get it right. "Come on, Paul, show them!"

At that time, all eyes were on me; the men there present in malicious amusement, as if waiting for a broken string and an out of tune singing.

John had a confidence that made him look like a lion, but this time not in an intimidating way. It was as if he was cursing me for not believing that I had full capacity to put The Quarrymen to play in that half-hearted little pub that certainly didn't really deserve my talent.

I must add that no, I am not exalting myself so much – even because I would never do it so explicitly and with such precise words, much less at that time.

It was really what John thought as the few seconds of silence passed as minutes.

So I tried to play the same song I played on the day I met him;  _Twenty Flight Rock_.

During the performance, I must confess that my ego was inflated as I saw the faces go from mocking to perplexed right before my eyes. I even rocked a bit in the rhythm of the song as I watched Lennon's proud smile.

At the end of the tune, the copperhead just pushed the cigarette out of his lips, exhaling smoke and approaching Mr. Camp with a smug, arrogant expression.

"When will we play?"

"Friday." Camp answered without hesitating for a second. John nodded and patted the man's shoulder.

"Correct answer." he threw the cigarette down and crushed it with the sole of his shoe. "All right, Paul, let's go now." said already goint up the stairs, without giving me time to really process such a quick negotiation that would make us play in a real pub in front of an audience that would be interested to hear us.

And, moreover, it would be my first performance in the group. Okay, maybe I was nervous.

"John!" I called him, but it was useless as usual. "John, slow down!" I demanded, already following him.

"Huh?" he asked me with the same arrogant expression as always, as if nothing special had happened seconds earlier.

"We're going to play in a pub!"

"He said we needed someone to play properly weeks ago, I got you." he shrugged.

For a minute I felt like I was just a little piece in his game by the way he said it, something small and disposable, and that made me swallow hard. Then I shook my head; it was bullshit. I got hired for being good and putting the band on higher levels, it was a good thing! It would benefit both John and me. Stop being silly, McCartney!

"Mm... John?"

"Yes?"

"Since we're going to play in a real place, don't you think we should be more... Professional?" he raised an eyebrow then, finally slowing his pace as if he was interested in hearing what I had to say.

"What do you mean by that? Do you know anyone who has a better amp or something?"

"No! Actually, I'm talking about the presentation itself, not the technical part." I ran my hand through my hair. "We could wear the same clothes, you know. Like the groups of..."

"You can stop, you can stop!" Lennon put his hand in front of me, literally stopping to walk and wide-eyed with arched eyebrows as if the idea had impacted him, which for a second made me proud to have suggested.

I said for a second.

"Wear uniforms?! Uniforms?!" then he laughed so loudly that it caught the attention of some passersby, who soon stared at him wondering what would be so funny. It was clear that my cheeks were blushing and I was already glaring at him with such an exaggerated reaction.

"Yes! What's the problem with that?!"

"The problem is that it's ridiculous!" John said such words as if he were explaining to a child that two plus two equals four. Then he started walking again, I followed right after him.

"Of course not! It would give an air of professionalism, which would mask the fact that most of the boys in the band are not even old enough to enter that place!" The copperhead shook his head, still laughing.

"It's ridiculous, McCartney. What's the next step? Play for the queen? Drink five o'clock tea while sucking Buckingham guard's dicks?" It made my face look even redder.

"If ye'd stop being such a bloody arrogant who thinks yer opinion is the only one that counts in the band, you'd see I'm right!" said angrily, but without stopping to follow him for the simple fact that I had no idea how I would get the bus back home.

In this moment, John Lennon froze in place upon hearing such words. He stared at me uncertainly, his eyes changing sometimes angry, sometimes impressed. He opened his mouth to speak a couple of times and then closed it, as if the words escaped him.

It was one of the only times I left him speechless.

"Since you think you're so smart, McCartney." his words carried a little venom, but he didn't look angry. In fact, he had a carefree smile. "How about we make a deal?"

"And what would that be?"

"We show up in those queer uniforms once." he began, which almost made me roll my eyes at the stupid 'insult'. "If you go to a party with me now.

Oh, I was fucked.

On the one hand I could deny it, so Lennon would think I was a fucking coward who would follow his orders without question as seemingly everyone else in the band. On the other hand, I would really make my father pissed for having promised to come back for dinner...

Well, I could get a pay phone and tell him I'd sleep in Ivan's house that night, it was not unusual, and Daddy liked him.

If only he suspected what the two of us used to do inside those walls...

The fact is that my reputation would remain intact and my relationship with Jim McCartney as well. Really, it seemed to be the perfect plan.

"Ye got yerself a deal." said at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, are you guys enjoying the story so far? i promisse it gets more interesting next chapter, but if you want to leave a cmment i would really aprecciate that ;))


	4. tout à propos paul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John get drunk at a party and Paul have to look after him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo i arranged myself a translater and she is awesome!!! i hope you guys enjoy the chapter

_That_  was certainly far from what I was expecting, as well as nothing like what I was used to, either. The few parties I’d been to had been tame enough; music playing quietly from a record player, maybe a little bit of alcohol swiped from each guest’s parents’ liqueur cabinet and some board games.

Naively, I’d thought that was what I’d find, something simple that would allow me a chat to the other members of The Quarrymen – who I’d only seen before at rehearsals – and finally feel a little bit more like an integral part of it all. So I didn’t mind that I’d left my guitar at Aunt Mimi’s and that I wasn't able to call Dad from a corner store John stopped at to buy cigarettes – which he insisted for me to help him steal, but was promptly turned down.

But no, it was nothing like that.

To begin with, the venue was an old, decrepit ballroom that looked like it’d seen its heyday long ago, but now appeared to be a load of wooden planks loosely glued together. It was by the shorefront, so it was likely that it was simply the sea breeze that rendered it that way, since it wasn’t built in resistant stone as the rest of the buildings nearby were.

Despite the decrepit appearance, which gave me the feel like the whole thing could collapse any second, the place was full to the brim with people. Teenagers pushed past each other to get closer to the stage, where a band played a particularly good rendition of Elvis songs. I turned to John and saw he was a few feet away, so I hurried to catch up with him.

“Who are they?”

“Some mad bloody Welshmen!” He replied, screaming over the loud music. “They play here once a month, everybody loves ‘em!”

“They’re good!”

“We’ll be better!” He said with a characteristic winning smile. When he stopped, Len Gary, who played an improvised bass in our band, approached us with two beers in his hands, which he promptly handed to us. “Didn’t think you’d be able to bring ‘im,” he yelled to John.

“Lady McCartney was hard to turn around, but here she is!” The boy announced proudly, hand resting on my shoulder. “You drink, or are ye against any kind of fun in which we break rules that keep kids from getting pissed?” He asked into my ear, mockingly, to which I rolled my eyes.

“Gimme the bloody beer, Lennon.” I pried the bottle from his hand, determined not to make a fool of myself.

And failing miserably as I couldn’t open it.

John and Len laughed at my efforts, and soon the former swiped it from my hand and opened it, easily, passing it back to me. I kept myself from whispering  _“thanks”_ , so as not to add any more to my growing embarrassment.

I sipped on the bitter liquid and held back a frown _. How_  did they like this? It tasted like  _piss_! I took my time with the first few sips while John quickly got to his third bottle, bobbing his head to the tune as he periodically glanced at me.

“What ‘ye looking at?”

“First time drinkin’ beer, McCartney?” he asked me, face mere inches away so his voice could be heard. It was the closest he’d been to me yet, but it didn’t alarm me – it only made me wrinkle my nose at his beery breath, which I quite possibly matched.

Lennon didn’t pay that any mind. In fact, he had his short-sighted eyes trained on me and wished for more light so he could see me better, as my face was naught but a blur to him. That moment, though, I could tell he noticed my eyelashes.

“’Course not.”

“Don’t lie,” it wasn’t said in a way to make me feel bad, it was serious; almost as if he was concerned.

“Yeah, okay, so?”

“You don’t have to drink what you don’t like, ye daft sod,” he said, taking the bottle from my hand and taking a drink, seemingly unconcerned by the fact that my lips had been around that very neck seconds before. “We don’t want a drunken Macca stumbling his way around his first party, do we?”

“ _Macca_?”

“Yer last name’s too long. Macca’s better,” he said matter-of-factly, taking another long drink from his –  _my_  – beer and handing me the bottle back. “If ye wanna look cool, you can walk around with the empty bottle. Although that’s hard with  _this_  bloody jacket.” I rolled my eyes.

“Can’t you just be nice  _without_  being a prick afterwards?”

“No.” He answered swiftly, a very characteristic smug smile playing on his lips. “I’m gonna’ go get more booze, alright? Stay here.”

“I’d rather go with you.”

“They won’t give me shite if they see _yer_  face.” He laughed. “We won’t be long.”

“Promise?” I asked, despite knowing his word wasn’t really worth much.

“Promise.”

I could spend hours talking about how that was John Lennon’s first broken promise to me; that I waited too long by the stage, that I didn’t see him again that night, that I got home late and had to tiptoe my way upstairs and come up with an excuse for my father the other day.

But that didn’t happen.

Instead, it was way worse.

About half an hour later, John was back and engaged in conversation with Len and Eric, another member of the band. I’d sat down, making it a little difficult for the copper-haired boy to find me amidst the crowd. When he did, he sat beside me.

“You alright, mate?” I nodded.

“I really like the band. Their bass player’s really good.”

“Do you play the bass?”

“A little.” I shrugged, smiling a little.

“Full of surprises, ye are, aren’t ya?” It was good to have your ego massaged by John Lennon.

“Me Da’ was a musician,” I explained. “But he stopped playing when me Mum…” I caught myself, realizing what I was doing.

“Yer Mum what?” I swallowed hard.

“Well, after me Mum…”

“Lennon!” called Eric, grabbing his attention. I thanked the heavens for that. “That girl, Mary—she’s looking for ya,” he said, smirking suggestively, earning a laugh from the older one.

“Alright, well, enjoy the music. I might be a while.” And so he left me there.

I sighed as I watched him leave, picking up the bottle he’d left behind without caring about the bitter taste of the beer  _or_ the fact that his lips had been around that very neck just seconds before.

★★★

I left the party after an hour went by and I assumed John was spending the rest of the night with that Mary girl. Not that I couldn’t have fun without him; I’d dance, chat with the remaining members of The Quarrymen and enjoyed the band. They were soon gone, however.

And a boy was staring at me.

That certainly embarrassed and bewildered me, especially seeing as my bandmates were present and very much aware of the boy’s looks towards me. I stared at my shoes and ran my hand through my hair nervously. When the second band came up onstage, I was already long gone.

I didn’t get far – after all, I had no idea how to get back home and it was nearly eleven o’clock! – before I heard a familiar voice calling for me.

“Oi, Macca!” I turned to face a very drunk John Lennon, stumbling towards me with a big smile that denounced his happiness in seeing me.

That worried me. On the one hand, I’d never dealt with a drunken, underage friend, and my brain was already trying to come up with excuses to give Aunt Mimi, who’d certainly have my head and call me a bad influence. On the other, I was reminded of the state my father was in, right after my mother’s death, and it made me sick to my stomach.

“Good to see ye, mate! Let’s go somewhere else, huh? Let’s—it’s gonna’ be b-bloody  _gear_!” He stumbled, only not hitting the floor thanks to me holding him by the waist.

I sucked in a deep breath as I realized our hips touched, John leaning on me as he hung forwards, in a _very_  compromising position for two men to be in in the year of 1957.

“John, what exactly did you have to drink?” I asked, recoiling, cursing my misplaced hormones.  _First that lad back at the party, and now the leader of the bloody band, who’d bash your head in if he knew you’re thinking about crap like that. Quit that shit, McCartney!_

“Uh, a little?” He answered, squinting, as if he considered whether or not he should tell me the truth.

“You’re talkin’ funny.” John’s speech was clearly altered by the booze.

“Am I?” He asked, still frowning, then shook his head vehemently. “’Course I’m bloody not. I’m  _great_ , alright?” He rested his left foot on the inside of his right knee to prove his point, nearly tumbling to the side once more. “Macca—the ground’s shakin’!” He complained as I dragged him out of there, arm around his back to stabilize him as I looked around for a bus stop, hoping to find one still around at this hour.

I wouldn’t know; I didn’t usually  _take_ the bus at that time.

“John, you’re gonna’ have to help me,” I told him, looking into his glazed eyes, willing to sound as imposing as John’s sober version did. “Where’s the nearest bus stop?”

He squinted at me, as if carefully going over the words I’d just spoken. As if I’d just recited him a Shakespearean poem, and not just asked a simple question.

“Huh?” He finally said, prompting me to roll my eyes and mentally curse him.

“Let’s go back to Mimi’s.” I tried to simplify the question, to which he again rubbed his eyes and surprised me by fishing a pair of thick, black-framed glasses out of his pocket.

He struggled to put them on, using only one of his shaky hands as his other was busy clinging to me for dear life, making me stumble to the side with his weight. He blinked as he finally managed to get them in place, then widening his small eyes as he caught sight of me.

“You look like a bird,” he declared, finally, making me instantaneously enraged.

“No, I don’t! Now, where the  _bloody hell_  do we need to go to catch a bus back home?” For some reason, it made him break into a fit of laughter, tinting my face a bright red. “Lennon, I swear to-!”

John bent sideways, as far away from me as he managed to, as he emptied the contents of his stomach into the sidewalk, holding onto my shoulders even harder as if he feared tumbling forward any second. That turned my annoyance with him into concern.

“Hey, John…” I held onto him tighter, until he was stable again, using the sleeve of his flannel shirt to wipe at his mouth. “Johnny, you alright?”

The boy pushed his glasses up his nose and blinked a few more times before answering me.

“It’s that way.” he pointed to a street to the right of where we were, almost making me roll my eyes again. It was  _that_  easy.

We walked there slowly, seeing as John still hung onto me with every step, stopping two or more times to vomit again before we arrived at the bus stop.

When we sat on the bench, I finally caught a good look at John’s glasses. The lenses were so thick, I imagined he’d be blind without them and wondered why I still hadn’t seen him with them on. I shrugged lightly and looked around, wondering if one of the nearby pubs would be so kind as to hand me a glass of water for the poor drunken sod, who shuffled his feet in a very characteristic trance-like state.

I scrambled to my feet and told him I’d be back, and asked him to tell the driver to wait a little bit if a bus come by while I was gone. I was stopped at the door to three of the four pubs I tried to enter; fortunately, the barmaid at the last one gave me the desired glass of water.

Walking back, I could see the vehicle leaving, prompting me to run towards it as I yelled for it to stop.

Uselessly.

I approached the bench where I’d left John, only to find him fast asleep, sitting up. I sighed, poking him awake.

“I brought you water,” I said simply, trying to be reasonable enough not to lecture a drunken man, but it came out harsher than intended.

“Huh?”

“Just drink it, Lennon!” I shoved the glass into his hands, and he spilled most of its contents in his clothes on the way to his lips.

Then he spat it out.

“There's something wrong with that vodka!”

“It’s  _water_!” I nearly yelled, earning a frown from him.

“No need to get yer panties in a bunch, princess.” I shut my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to keep myself from committing a crime right then and there, as John finished what was left of his water and handed me the empty glass back.

I went to give it back to the bar lady. I thanked her and cursed myself for being an idiot and trying to help the biggest arsehole in all of Liverpool. I sat beside him on the bench, checking my watch for the time – it was nearly midnight and Dad would certainly expect a good enough excuse the next day at breakfast. I rested my head on the bench and pondered whether it was a good idea to murder John Lennon, when he poked my arm. I turned to face him, my eyes probably giving away my anger.

“What’s the uniform gonna’ be like, Macca?” I laughed. A deal made just a few hours ago had completely slipped my mind, already.

“I don’t know. Maybe white jackets like mine, since you like ‘em so much?”

“I’d sooner die, mate.”

“Well, tough. You’re gonna’ do as I say anyway.” I shrugged, and he squinted at me once more, despite still wearing his glasses – so it wasn’t because he couldn’t see me, I figured.

“What makes you think that?”

“You like me. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have insisted on dragging me all the way to this stupid bloody party and then hung around me most of the night.” I said, supposing drunken John wouldn’t have the same abilities in self-defense as his sober version.

And I was right, seeing as he simply shrugged his shoulders and commented on the cold.

I was about to doze off on the bench as John hummed to himself a tune I didn’t know, pitching in to say he didn’t know a few of the lyrics here and there as he sang made up lyrics, until the bus stopped before us. I glanced at my watch; it was two in the morning and we were the only ones aboard it.

We sat on the back, away from the driver, who seemed beyond pissed he had to drive around two teenagers that weren’t even supposed to be in that part of town in the first place at that hour. John mocked the man’s terrible moustache when we hopped off the bus, at the stop closest to Mimi’s house.

“You think you can walk upstairs on your own?”

“Well, yeah! I puked my insides out, if you haven’t noticed; there’s not a drop of alcohol in me system anymore.” he truly did seem better, despite still looking a little affected by the amount he’d had to drink. “Go on home, Mother Macca must be worrying her little head off.” he smirked, making me swallow dryly.

I turned away and began walking back home, when John called for me.

“Oi, Paulie!” I turned to face him, hoping to get at least something like  _thanks, Paul, for looking after me annoying drunken arse while me other friends danced the night away_.

But this is John Lennon we’re talking about, so  _of course_  he didn’t say anything like that.

“Wednesday at mine, right?” I nodded, rolling my eyes for the millionth time that night.

I finally headed home after that. I sighed in relief as I turned the doorknob, finding it unlocked.

I was taken by surprise, heading inside.

★★★

It was Wednesday evening when I saw him again. He didn’t wear his glasses, making his eyes return to their normal squinting form. Besides that, his red flannel was gone, a blue button-up shirt taking its place instead. It suited him. But who cared about any of that? I was pissed. That was what was important.  _Pissed_. John Lennon could drop dead right then and there and I wouldn’t have cared.

“Mornin’, princess!” He said, voice drenched in irony, as I opened the door. I folded my arms over my chest and glared at him. “Don’t look at me like that. I should be mad that you skipped out on class earlier today. Thankfully for ye, I forgive you, out of kindness in me heart.” He shoved my guitar into my arms as he spoke. “Now, move, and let’s play.”

“No,” I replied curtly, prompting him to frown at me.

“No? Why not?”

“Because it’s your fault, John Lennon, that I’m bloody grounded!” I said, never minding the fact that being _grounded_  was probably not a real word in the boy’s vocabulary.

“Yeah, so?” he said, confirming my suspicions.

“I can’t leave the house. Not even to play at the bloody pub.  _Thanks for that_.” I spat out the last words, but Lennon didn’t care.

Well, he probably got what I meant.

He began to laugh as if I’d just told the funniest joke in the world.

“So was little Paulie a naughty boy, and now Mummy’s got him grounded?”

That was enough. I shut the door in his face, his nose colliding with it outside as he cursed at me before knocking again, telling me how ridiculous I was being. I’d locked it by that point, turning away from it, too angry to have a clear-headed conversation.

Well, at least the sod had given me my guitar back.

Speaking of, the sod was already well on his way to some other friend’s house as he mumbled to himself about how he should just bash my head in and not just walk away as he was doing. John cleared his throat and touched his nose, making sure it hadn’t been broken, and soon knocked on his second door that evening.

“John?” asked the boy, cocking up an eyebrow in confusion. Lennon didn’t explain a thing, instead simply letting himself in before the other boy had the chance to shut it in his face, considering he was my friend, too, and could have taken my side.

“I’ll be quite clear, Ivan,” said the copper-haired boy. “I need you to tell me everything about Paul. Everything you know.  _Now_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, did you like it so far? things starts to get a little more interestig now. if you enjoyed it, leave a xomment bellow please ;)


	5. premier spectacle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John lie to Paul's dad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two in one day??? i know i know, but th ebig bang contest is getting closer soooo  
> well, see y'all in the bottom notes

In the following days, I actually believed that John Lennon hated me and that if we crossed paths he’d only ignore me, or worse, punch me in the nose as payback for slamming the door in his face. I wasn’t really worried due to the fact that I’d probably not leave the house for the rest of the summer, if it was up to Daddy – who still wasn’t happy around me. Michael had noticed it, too, making supper even more uncomfortable as the three of us sat in silence around a table that once housed dinners full of life and laughter.

But that was before the cancer.

Either way, there was still a bit of life left, albeit not like before. Silence reminded me of when she was in the hospital, slowly dying. I rushed to wash my dishes even before finishing all the food in my plate, when I heard knocking on the door.

“I’ll get it,” said Mike, happy to get away from the dead air.

I was much too focused on the task of disposing of what had been left on my plate and subsequently washing it to notice the very characteristic high voice, talking in undistinguished mumbles with my brother, gradually raising in volume as they approached the dining room.

“Paul, get in here!” I heard Jim McCartney’s voice call for me, making me rush to drop the silverware and dry my hands. I arrived only to find John Lennon standing there, wearing a white jacket similar to mine over a white shirt and a bowtie.

“Y-yes, Dad?” I swallowed hard, expecting a lecture for my bad behaviour the last few nights. Perhaps John had told him about the party and the door slamming, and that was sure to bring on even more problems.

“Is that true?” I bit down on my bottom lip as I looked between my Dad and the leader of me band – or former band, who knew for sure? --, wondering what he might have told him.

I simply nodded, figuring nothing could possibly be worse than being locked away at home until the end of summer. I readied myself for a two-hour-long lecture, but was surprised as my Dad rose to his feet and approached me, wrapping his arms tightly around me as he reassuringly pat my hair.

“Son, you don’t need to hide that sort of thing from me. I love you, and you can always talk to me whenever you need to. There’s no need to lie, I really mean it.” He backed away. “And you’re in a band?! Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

“Uh, yeah,” I cleared my throat, widening my eyes as they danced between John and my Dad. “We play Rock and Roll. I didn’t know if you’d approve of it.”

“Anything that makes you happy. Now go, don’t be late! You know I’d go, but I have the night shift tonight.” He laid a kiss to my forehead, then, before going up the stairs. “But remember, there’s no need to hide anything from your old man, alright? And be back before midnight.”

“Right…” I answered, weakly.

Michael sat at the end of the table, staring at me confusedly, sadly.

“I thought we’d agreed to talk about it with each other, so as not to upset Dad.”

“Mike, I really—" The boy left the room before I had the chance to tell him I had no idea what had just happened. I ran a hand through my hair and turned to John, who balanced an unlit cigarette between his lips as he fished his pockets for a lighter. “What the hell was that?!” I asked furiously. “What did you tell me Dad?! You can’t just show up ‘ere and—“

“Whatever, Macca. Now go upstairs and put on your fancy clothes if you don’t wanna’ be late to our first real gig!”

I opened my mouth to say something back, but closed it as I supposed he was right. I rushed upstairs, trying to get my mind in order about everything that had just happened minutes ago. I soon realised it was better to just let it go and focus on playing.

After all, John had succeeded in freeing me from grounding. I shouldn’t be angry at him for that, despite only having been grounded  _because_  of him in the first place. I changed into something similar to what John sported, grabbed my guitar and rushed back downstairs.

“Alright, let’s go.”

“Let’s go.”

★★★

“Why are you taking me here?”

“It’s more intimate,” he explained, and I cocked up an eyebrow.

“What do you  _mean_  by that?”

“I mean that no sorry wanker’s gonna’ walk in, so we can chat in peace,” he replied, setting down his guitar off to his side as we sat at the back of the bus we had to catch to go back home. My watch showed it was half-ten, meaning I’d be home before midnight, which would certainly please my Dad. I shrugged and did the same, sitting behind him, which prompted him to kneel on his seat to face me.

“Why don’t you wear yer glasses?”

“Huh?”

“I saw you wearing ‘em when you were drunk. I figured that you can’t see shite without ‘em, even if you like to pretend you can. When you put ‘em on, you acted like you’d just seen me for the first time ever.”

John took a while to answer, sighing and pondering how to explain to me that glasses were stupid without being reprimanded by the posh lad sitting in front of him. He’d already gotten rid of his tie and his jacket laid discarded beside his guitar, while I still looked the same as I did at the start of the night.

“They ruin me look.” That made me laugh, ridiculous as it sounded. “Yeah, laugh all ye’ want, but it’s true! Only bleedin’  _losers_  wear glasses, and I don’t want people to think of me like that.”

“You’re daft.”

“Yet here you are.” I raised an eyebrow.

Yeah, yet there I was.

Riding the bus with the person I allegedly found daft, looking up to him and hoping to get to know him better any chance I had to. Yes, I did very much like John Lennon, even though I’d only come to know him not long ago, though I hardly knew why, considering the annoying arse that he was. Maybe it was the little moments like these. When it was just the two of us and he seemed so light he could reach out and touch the sky. Yes, he was awful, but interesting and incendiary and I found myself bewitched by him, disregarding all the bad implications that came with it.

“You forgave me for slamming the door in your face. I can try and forgive you for being an arse.” I explained, to which he shrugged.

“Well, I ain’t gonna’ stop bein’ an arse, if that’s what yer hoping for.”

“Well, maybe I can slam  _other stuff_  in your face.” He smiled.

“Let’s play a game. You jot down the amount of times I’ve been an arse to you, and I’ll jot down the amount of stuff you’ve whacked me with. Whoever’s got the most times, wins.”

“What would I get outta’ that?”

“What makes you think you’d win?”

“Ye're a right wanker, you are.” John raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve got a point,” he gave in, not really seeming at all offended, considering the smile playing on his lips. “But yer Da’ liked me, so I can’t be  _that_ much of a wanker.”

“He clearly doesn’t know you well.” That earned a brief laugh from John, but soon his expression turned serious once more.

“Well, uh… Ivan told me about yer Mum.” He said, scratching at the back of his head and looking at me cautiously, as if he feared I’d be mad at him for that. He was completely uncomfortable touching on that subject, his characteristic confidence replaced by uncertainty.

“Oh…” I swallowed, instantly worried. “What else did he tell you?”

“Not much. He said yer old man’s a bit strict.” I held back a relieved sigh, despite knowing that Ivan wouldn’t be so daft as to tell him everything about me, being that we were somewhat estranged. Well, telling him what we did would be shooting himself on the foot, anyway.

The few seconds of silence that followed saw John cast his eyes to the floor and fish his glasses out of his pocket, hoping to read me better and find out how to act. It was stupid to care so much about the feelings of a guy you hardly knew, he knew that, but he didn’t really care. It was different, with us.

Not that he knew why.

“Oi, Macca.” I tipped my head at him, encouraging him to continue. “I know you musta’ heard it a thousand times, but I’m sorry for yer loss. I’m just now becoming close to me Mum, so I know how it feels. To have someone important in yer life like that, I mean.” I could almost hear him think _, why am I opening up like this? It’s stupid._  “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost ‘er. I’m sorry, really.”

“’S fine.” I swallowed hard, casting my eyes to the window next to me. The dimly-lit Liverpool streets housed only very few passersby and old shadowy homes that would have frightened me if I were a few years younger. “It was last year, actually. I haven’t heard ‘I’m sorry’ in a long time.”

“I can make it up for it if ye want.”

“No need to, really.” I let out a sad snort of a laugh. “Did you tell Dad anything about her? ‘S the only reason why Mike would be so pissed.”

“Sorry ‘bout that. I couldn’t come up with anything better.” He sighed. “I said you’d told me about it and moped around the rest of the afternoon, so you told me you needed a drink and we lost track of time.” I nodded. “You’re not mad at me, are ya?”

“A little,” I confessed, casting my eyes onto him. “But I’ll get over it.”

He smiled at me, making my lips twist into a smile back.

“Y’know, Paul, letting you in me band was the best thing I’ve done in a long time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, did you like the chapter? hope you're finding it interesting :)  
> if you like it, leave a comment bellow!


	6. impressionner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul tells John that he was impressed by him when they first met

I stood by the door to John's house. Guitar in tow, my mind went over the songs we'd play that afternoon. Lennon was a natural, I found, noticing his improvement since I started to help him the past few weeks. He had a natural ability that allowed him to go much further than expected in so little time, and I imagined it wouldn't be long before he didn't need my help anymore.

Mimi opened the door and flashed me a polite smile. She liked me, weirdly enough. According to John, she thought I was a good influence on him.

"John, your little friend's here!" She shouted upstairs, before turning towards me again. "Wait a second, he'll be down in a bit," she said, before disappearing into the kitchen. She was probably cooking supper – always making enough for two, hoping John would be back at a reasonable hour, which seldom happened.

I sighed and leaned against the doorframe with my guitar in hand and eyes on the stairs, staring expectantly. Not too long after, I smiled as I saw his figure approach, but wondered why he didn't have his own guitar in tow.

"John?"

"Oh, we're not practicing today," he said, taking the guitar from my hands and laying it out on the sofa. "We're going out."

"But—"

"We can practice tomorrow if ye want! C'mon, Paulie, don't act like you didn't enjoy yerself last time," he said, shutting the door behind himself.

"Well... I'll go under one condition."

"What, besides the ties you want us to wear skirts, too?"

"No." I rolled my eyes. "The condition is we don't go to another party." John snorted, annoyed.

"Whatever. Will you follow me, dear Macca?"

" _Whatever_." I matched his tone as I followed him to the bus stop, amidst amicable banter.

We stopped somewhere I knew for once, which made me much more comfortable. We strolled beside each other towards a destination unknown to me. John told me about a fight he'd been in a few days ago and I wondered how true that was, as we stopped in front of a house supposedly filled with drunken teenagers. The loud music could be heard from the outside, where we stood. I folded my arms over my chest and turned to the older one.

"You promised me we wouldn't go to another bloody party!" I glared at him, and he simply shrugged.

"I didn't promise shite. I just said it. And I lied." I quickly turned on my heels, ready to go back from where we came from. "Macca, wait!" He laid a hand on my shoulder, keeping me from taking another step. "C'mon, don't be mad. I  _promise_  I won't have a sip of alcohol this time and I'll get ya home before midnight, like after the gigs. Yer Da' won't have a reason to be pissed."

"I'm not  _supposed_  to go to parties without him knowing, John!" I said, turning to him with an annoyed look on my face.

"Now how in the hell is he supposed to find out you were  _ever_  here?" John had that smug smile on his face, and a touch of irony in his voice. My urge to punch him in the face only grew.

"I don't  _enjoy_  lying, unlike you, Lennon!"

"Oh, come off it,  _Princess_." I groaned at the dumb nickname, which only made his stupid smile grow. "You need to be good friends with yer bandmates! It's important! You only talk to  _me_  out of everyone. You need to get to know 'em."

"There you go with that crap again! If you wanna' hang out with me you can just  _tell me_ , y'know, you don't need to make that shit up." That took him by surprise. He raised an eyebrow, stopping for a few seconds as if pondering if he should try and persuade me to stay or shout at me some.

"Look, I  _promise_  I won't lie about it again, if it helps. Now let's go inside and socialise a bit. C'mon, Paul, you're not a  _kid_  anymore!" I sighed and gave in, despite not believing him. I'd later find that empty promises were a constant for the boy in front of me.

"An hour, tops! Then I'm heading home." John's smile was back, as if he knew all along I'd give in sooner or later.

"You'll  _beg_  to stay longer, Macca."

"We'll see, Lennon." I said, before entering the house.

Well, he was wrong, after all.

The party looked like fun, but once we came in it was clear we were the only two sober people not joining in on the display of human disgrace. We looked between each other and wordlessly agreed to leave.

That was the first time we ever communicated like that; something that would soon become a habit for both of us.

John gestured with his hand for me to wait where I was and disappeared for about ten minutes. In the meantime, some clearly drunken girl began to chat me up about how she wanted me to take her to the loo. I tried to let her down gently and she soon enough turned her attention to a fresh new bottle of booze. Don't get me wrong, she was lovely, really, but I would never take advantage of a drunken person.

Soon I felt a firm hand on my shoulder, instantly knowing its owner without the need to turn around. We followed each other out the back door, away from all the noise.

"Isn't the bus stop that way?"

"Yeah, but we haven't partied yet, Macca. We can't go home without partying first."

"You really wanna' go back in there? There's puke on the bloody  _ceiling_!"

"We'll party on our own!" He said, walking faster so he was in front of me, something he hadn't done in a while. I sighed, but followed, supposing it was useless to ask where we were heading.

Not long after, we stopped at a square that looked familiar. John scanned the place for the most desolate spot and took a seat there. There were two benches across from each other; he took the one on the left and I took the one on the right, propping our feet up on the one across from ours, respectively. The copper-haired boy produced a pack of cigarettes and a half-empty bottle of scotch, laying both out on the bench beside my feet.

"I thought you said no drinking."

"That was before I had the opportunity to swipe expensive shite," he said matter-of-factly, unscrewing the bottle. "There isn't much left and we're sharing it, so neither of us is gonna' end up drunk." I sighed. I knew it better than to try and challenge him.

"Got a light?" He produced one from his pocket while I fished for two cigarettes, placing one in between his thin lips and taking a drag of mine as I lit it.

"Didn't know you smoked, Princess."

"There's a lot about me you don't know, Lennon." He smiled.

"So tell me,  _McCartney_." I exhaled, letting the smoke flow out of my lungs and into the air, wondering where to start.

 _Well,_ I thought _, for starters, I kind of like boys in a way I'm not really supposed to._

"Uh... I dunno." I could feel my cheeks burn at the thought, which apparently piqued John's interest.

"I can see you thought of _something_." He laughed.

" _You_ start! Why are you so eager for me to make friends with  _your_  friends?"

"Because you're in the same band as them?" He said, as if I'd just asked him a stupid question.

"I already get along fine with you. And Pete."

"Not so much with Len, Eric and Colin, though."

"Whatever. As long as we play alright, I don't care. I've got what I need." I shrugged before taking another drag. Lennon took out his glasses then, as if he wanted to see me more clearly. He was already in the process of lighting his second cigarette and I couldn't help but notice that even at that age, he was already a chain smoker.

"An' what's that?" He asked, before taking a generous sip of the scotch and passing the bottle over to me.

"Huh?"

"What is it that you needed?" I swallowed hard, realising I'd said too much. I sipped on the scotch and proceeded to nearly choke at the burning sensation down my throat, all the way to my stomach. It tasted disgusting but  _good_ , all at once, which prompted me to take another drink. "Easy, Princess. We need to get you home all in one piece," he said, taking the bottle from me. "Well, go on," he said, watching me as I took a drag, making a mental note that he liked how I looked when I smoked.

Which made absolutely no sense.

"Well, join a band," I answered, uncertainly. The boy snorted and shook his head as he straightened his glasses.

"That doesn't sound very convincing." I sighed, resigning.

"You know I was trying to impress you that first day, right?" I stated as more of a fact than a question, quite obvious and not very revealing. However, looking at the expression on John's face, I could see he was somewhat taken aback.

"Really?"

"Well, yeah. You're the only one who's got really any talent in the bloody band. Other than me, of course," I said, putting out my cigarette on the iron arms of the bench. "The other blokes? They're in it for a laugh. You're not. I mean, you  _are_  in it for a laugh, but not  _just_  that. You love music, I can tell. That's why you impressed me at the fête, so I wanted to impress you, too. And don't even try to deny it, Lennon, I _know_  I did." I smirked at him, much like he often did. I lit a second cigarette as he pondered my answer.

"Well, 's good to know I impressed ya." He said with a smug smile, to which I rolled my eyes.

"Oh, sod off – you knew that already."

"D'ya hear that, ladies and gentlemen?" John yelled out to the people passing by, who looked between each other and hurried away. I jolted from my seat and grabbed him by the shoulders, to keep him from screaming again. "Paul McCartney thinks I'm  _impressive_!"

"Shut it, wanker." I shoved him, sitting back down next to him as he laughed. I took another pleasant sip of the scotch. "I bloody  _hate_  ya."

"No, you don't," he said, inching closer. "You're  _impressed_  by me."

It was my turn to inch closer, now, so that our faces were mere inches apart, and I shoved a finger into his chest.

"No.  _You_  were so impressed by  _me_ , that you found a way to get my number."

We glared at each other for a moment longer. Too close for comfort, but neither of us seemed to care.

"Well, you came to see me."

"Well, _you_  keep making up excuses to be alone with me." That made him lean back, eyebrows shooting up, as if I'd just hit him in the face.

A few seconds passed by in silence as we looked into each other's eyes, this time not in a challenging manner. I had a question in my eyes; he was surprised.

"Well..." He cleared his throat before screwing the bottle shut as he scrambled to his feet. "We best get home soon if ye don't wanna' be grounded again, Princess."

The way back, unlike the ride there, was silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did you like the chapter? the chemestry is starting, huh?
> 
> leave a comment if you liked it!


	7. attirant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John wants to kiss Paul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes i'm updating it very quick bc the contest

We swayed to the music onstage, shoulder to shoulder. I risked a guitar solo that didn't quite come out right, due to lack of practice. John sang the lead and I sang harmony. It was an upbeat song, which we tried to convey to the public as they promptly danced along. We traded looks for a moment right before he turned his attention to the crowd.

"Thank you, ladies and genitals," he said into the mic. "Now, because I'm thirsty as fuck and need a break, let me introduce to you—Mr. Paul McCharmly!" I raised my eyebrows at the unexpected new nickname and cleared my throat.

"Thanks, John."

"Whatever, just bloody play already." He rolled his eyes. I smirked and played the opening notes of Shake, Rattle & Roll, but was interrupted by John yelling out into the microphone.

"Shut up while he's singing!"

That certainly bothered me more than the quiet conversation by the door of the pub we played at, but it was clear John only did it to get more laughter from the crowd, grabbing my attention in the process.

" _I said shake, rattle 'n roll_ ," I sang the chorus into the mic, swaying to the rhythm.

"Yes, he did!" Echoed John, causing a wave of laughter in the audience.

"Sh- _shake, rattle an' roll_ ," I sang, voice shaky from laughter. Thankfully, John hopped offstage to chase his much needed drink, leaving me there to finish the song.

"I'd like to thank John Lennon for making me mess up again," I said into the mic at the end, earning cheers from the audience.

"Yer' jealous 'cause I'm prettier," said John, hopping back, head hanging to the side, a bewitching look in his eyes. Out of range of the mic, this time. I raised an eyebrow, admitting to myself that I hadn't really thought it through. Looking him over, I had to bend my arm.

"You're jealous 'cause I know all the words." I winked at him, to which he raised a hand up to his mouth to cover the "o" shape that it had formed in feigned shock.

"Mr. McCharmly's quite naughty tonight," he said, before filling his chest up with that familiar superiority and confidence as he straightened his guitar, before finally turning back to the mic. "Okay!  _Four, three, two, one_!"

And so we resumed playing.

 ★★★  

It was the first afterparty I'd been to, really. That was due to the fact that I'd let my Dad know where I'd be, and that I'd sleep over at John's. That unnerved me a little, seeing as I'd never slept over at a friend's house besides Ivan, so I didn't quite know how to act, especially considering Mimi's strictness.

But all in all, it more closely reminded me of the parties I'd been to before I met John than any other one we'd been to together. Of course there were many more people, but apparently everyone knew each other well enough and the booze was a little pricier. For that reason, I promptly claimed a bottle of scotch. I supposed I could do that, considering everybody seemed to just take whatever they wanted to drink. I asked myself if I should pay for anything, but soon I was informed that the party was also a celebration of Eric's birthday and that he'd be buying the drinks. I swallowed hard, a wave of guilt washing over me, but the sweet taste of the scotch soon helped me forget all about it. I couldn't find Lennon anywhere, which worried me a little, but I imagined he'd be off with some girl doing God-knew-what. I let the alcohol wash my worries away.

I don't remember exactly when and how it happened, but at one point I felt like the ground was shaking, making me stumble. Then words began to entwine with each other until they made no sense anymore, and Pete's jokes lost all of their appeal. Looking at the bottle – which had been half-full when it came into my hands --, I noticed it was nearly empty. I took the last sip, disposing of it and heading out of the stuffy house since I was bloody hot.

I smiled as the chilly night air touched my face, reddened by the alcohol. I sat on the steps by the door and fished for a cigarette, lighting it and smiling dumbly at the smoke that escaped my lips. I could see from a distance something that sparked up my interest; John Lennon furiously yelling at a red-haired woman half his size and twice his age. She looked devastated as she heard the harsh words pouring from the boy's mouth. I was intrigued.

I scrambled to my feet and stumbled towards the pair.

"If you  _really_  did love me you wouldn't have gotten rid of me  _again_!"

"John-ny?" I called, in-between hiccups, drawing the attention of both the woman and John, whose expression softened as he laid his eyes on me. Only then did I see the resemblance between the two.

"You're drunk."

"Yeah," I said, taking another step further. "Are you John's mum?" I asked, attempting to sound as polite as possible, despite hearing the words coming out all wrong.

"She's  _supposed_  to be," John spat, coldly, throwing an arm around my shoulders as I'd done to him a few weeks prior. "Come on."

"John, wait..."

"We'll finish this later," he told her, harshly. I could see he was also somewhat affected by booze, though not as much as I was. We walked slowly towards Aunt Mimi's, and I didn't dare say a word. I simply stared at the boy, wanting to distract him from whatever had happened so that the sad and pensive look on his face could be replaced by his characteristic confidence.

I sat on John's bed, waiting for him to return with a glass of water he'd promised me. I wore an inside-out t-shirt and some boxers, the best a drunken teenage could muster. The room seemed to spin and I felt a tingling sensation on my feet, making me giggle to myself. He soon showed up, holding my hand as I drank my water, swallowing down a pill he'd brought as well without asking further questions.

"Didja know that it was Eric's birthday?" I began, "I didn't. I feel bad I dr—" I was interrupted by a stubborn hiccup. "--I drank his scotch without even wishing him a happy—" Another. "—Happy birthday."

"I see," he said, a small smiling playing on his thin lips, which brought one of my own onto my face. I watched him a little more closely, pondering whether or not I found him attractive.

He had small brown eyes, followed by a large aquiline nose and shapely thin lips. The lower ones were a little thicker than the upper ones. Besides that, he had a few freckles and moles peppered around the sides of his face, by his sideburns, which strangely made him even more attractive, as well as broad shoulders and a rare, honest smile. His hair was a very distinguished colour I couldn't quite name, so I referred to it as a coppery auburn tone. It carried a hint of the red present in his mother's hair. When wet, like at that moment, some of his locks pulled themselves into little curls, which happened often when he coiffed them into a _teddy boy_  style.

"Fuck," I breathed out loud, accidentally, as my heart raced in my chest.

"What?" He asked, curiously, his own heart racing as he watched the way I longingly stared at his lips and wondered what the hell was going on.

"You're  _really_ attractive," I said, finally, holding my breath as I did.

We stayed like that for what felt like hours, staring at each other's lips and daydreaming about what would happen should we come just a little bit closer. John laid a firm hand on my cheek and stroked it with the pad of his thumb, looking me in the eyes and letting out a sigh as if he'd only  _just_  realized this was what he'd been wanting to do for a long time. His thumb then left my cheek and he dragged it slowly across my bottom lip, which had caught his eyes once again.

"We should go to bed." He said, finally, rushing to his feet. Right, what the  _fuck_  had just happened?! I mean, it wasn't like John hadn't felt attraction for another man before – although he'd  _never_ admit that out loud, until much later in his life --, but never like  _that_.

He truly just pondered kissing a bloke. Not only pondered, but nearly  _did it_. How insane was that?!

"Johnny..." I found myself calling him  _Johnny_  once again, making me wish more than ever to throw myself out a window, just to get rid of all of  _that_.

"You can have the bed, I'll take the floor," he said, lying down and pulling the covers up to his face. "G'night," was the last thing he said to me that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how's it going so far? are you enjoying it??


	8. violon d'ingres

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and John get intimate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so.... violon d'ingres in literal translation means "ingres's violin"
> 
> ingres was a famous painter, but then people found out that he too was a great violinist
> 
> so the french expression means "hidden talent"

“Hullo?” I heard Michael’s questioning voice at the door. We'd been gathering our school supplies together, seeing as that was the last day of summer vacation. We’d constantly get into fights over who’d take what pencil or pen.

“Hey, ‘s Paul in?” My heart skipped a beat in recognition of the voice.

The day after I’d slept over at John’s, he’d acted strange. Sort of as if he was afraid to touch me; afraid we’d end up in that same situation from the night before, so he kept his distance and avoided my eyes.

I, on the other hand, pretended to have forgotten all about it. I pretended not to feel the tingling sensation on my bottom lip, where John had run his thumb, as I watched his firm hands playing the guitar; I pretended my heart didn’t skip a beat every time he inched closer to me and not to feel a shiver down my spine at his every smile. It was quite obvious I was attracted to John, and much more so than I should be. The smartest thing to do was to ignore it. After all, if he did like blokes like that, it seemed he still hadn’t explored that side of himself and felt ashamed. Yes, forgetting all about it would be the right thing to do, so as not to ruin our friendship.

Little did I know he felt the same.

I rose to my feet and walked to the door, standing beside Mike with a smile.

“I was going to head to yours later.”

“We’re not practicing again, ‘s the last day of summer! Go grab a towel, let’s go have some fun.”

“A towel?”

“Yeah, now hurry up! Sun’s not gonna’ wait for ye.” I rolled my eyes at John’s impatience, but headed upstairs anyway, Mike tagging along behind me.

“Paul?”

“Yeah?” I answered absent-mindedly, as I searched for an old leather bag I’d used for school a few years prior, now reduced to pieces. I shoved a towel and a pack of ciggies into it, anyway.

“Can I go?” I frowned, turning towards my brother. We got along fine, most of the time; in fact, we were quite close compared to the other pairs of siblings we knew. I pondered his request, taking into consideration how great and free I felt with Lennon, and how the presence of someone else could break that magic.

“No,” I said simply. “Go hang out with yer friends. Me and John have something we need to talk about,” I lied, earning a frown from him.

“Please! I have nothing else to do. Carl’s in Blackpool and today’s the last day of summer!”

“Sorry, buddy.” I ruffled his hair and headed downstairs.

“Can I at least have the red pen?” He yelled out from upstairs, making me smile.

“Have at it!” I yelled back, closing the door behind me. “I know it’s useless to ask, but where are we heading?”

“Righty-o.” He flashed me a smile.

“Huh?"

“It’s useless to ask. Now, follow me,” he said, earning a sigh from me, but I followed him anyway.

I didn’t pay too close attention to the path we took, putting my trust on John, but soon enough we arrived at a wooded area and I was struck by worry. The copperhead told me to relax or he’d drop me off on my own, which earned him the V-sign from me. We walked for a half hour longer until we abandoned the road, plunging ourselves into the woods.

“Are we close?”

“Shut up!” He said, hurrying up. The light got scarcer as the tops of the trees shielded it away, worrying me even further. Ten or so minutes passed by, until he finally turned towards me.  “We’re here,” he declared, pointing to a cluster of trees through which the light seemed to shine brighter. He made his way to them, as I followed suit.

“Wow,” I breathed, looking around. It was beautifully calm, housing a rock formation over which water flowed slowly. The sun shone through more easily, without the large amount of trees in that particular place to shield it; a picturesque clearing peppered by flowers and bright colours. I turned to the boy in front of me, questioningly. “How’d you find this place?”

“Me mum brought me and me sisters here earlier this summer. She says we always used to come when I was younger,” He explained, sitting by the water and the rocks as he untied his shoes. I felt a warmth in my chest, knowing he chose to share with me such an apparently intimate place.

“It’s lovely.” I said, sitting beside him. I still looked around in awe.

“Julia says it’s her little piece of heaven.” He smiled, remembering her.

“Good to know you two made up, after all,” I said, nestling John’s guitar in my lap to check the tuning, then began to play the first song that popped into mind.

“What choice do I have? She’s me mum, after all.” He shrugged. “Elvis?”

“No, not really.” I took a deep breath, and only then began to sing. “Well, I woke up late this mornin’, my head was in a whirl. Only then I realized, I lost my little girl…” John watched me with interest, drawing his eyebrows together in thought as he tried to recognize the song. “Well, her clothes were not expensive, her hair didn’t always curl. I don’t know why I loved her, but I loved my little girl.”

“Did you write that?” I stopped playing, then, nodding.

“The week she…” I trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence. I took a deep breath and turned to John, forcing a smile. “Let’s not get all sad. We’re supposed to be havin’ fun.”

“Well…” Lennon seemed deep in thought. “Actually, Macca, I think you just gave me the best idea I’ve had.”

“Huh?” I frowned. “Grieving for me Mum gave you a good idea?”

“No, you sod, the song.” He rose to his feet. “See, we’d no longer ‘ave to pay attention to what the other bands were playing before us, we wouldn’t have to look for B-sides anymore.”

“Are you suggesting we write songs for our band?” I asked him, brows drawn, and he turned to me with a daft smile, sealing the deal. “’S bloody brilliant!”

“Well, let’s start now, then!” He said, fishing his bag for a piece of scrunched-up paper and a broken pencil. We sat beside each other and stared at the running water for a long time. We started with failed attempts at fragments of verses; and not long after, John pushed the paper back into his bag in frustration. “We’re bloody awful,” he declared, earning a laugh from me.

“It’s just not the right mood,” I said, scrambling to my feet and turning away from him, as I unbuttoned my shirt. Lennon’s eyes widened.

“What are you doing?!”

“Going in the water?” I said, obviously. I threw the garment towards my bag and undid my belt, taking off my wristwatch. “We’re under the scorching midday sun and there’s fresh, cool water right there. We’ll think about the song later.” I folded the thick black fabric and laid it atop my shirt. “Johnny?”

“No, no, I mean—yeah, sure.” I frowned at the older one, who’d begun to disrobe as well, back turned to me. I kept my eyes trained on the ground, resisting the urge to watch John in but his underwear, a sight that would probably come back to me at night, in bed.

Not too long after we headed into the lake. Both of us yelped as the cool water hit our warm bodies, but soon enough we got used to it and found ourselves spraying each other and playing Guess the song. It always amazed me how his behaviour changed so drastically. When I met him – which seemed like an eternity ago, although it’d only been less than a couple months --, I never would have taken him for the sort of lad to saunter around the lake as he told the most stupid jokes, a smile permanently on his face.

“Your turn!” He said, splashing water in my face, making me choke.

“Bloody wanker,” I spat, in-between coughs.

“Sorry, Princess,” he said, dramatically resting a hand on his bare chest.

“Sod off, Lennon.” I laughed, rolling my eyes.

“Yeah, yeah—Joke?”

“I dunno any good ones,” I stated. My father didn’t let me hear the jokes told by him and my uncles, claiming they were not for a young man’s ears.

“’Course you know! C’mon, think about it.” I stroked my chin as I thought.

“Alright, I’ve got one!” I cleared my throat. “Charles Dickens goes into a pub and asks for a martini. The barman asks, ‘Olive or Twist?’” I watched him, a smile playing on my lips at the terrible joke, but John stared blankly at me for another ten seconds or so. “What?!”

“Macca, that’s the worst joke I’ve ever heard in me life.” I snorted.

“Oh, come on, I told you I didn’t know any good ones,” I said furiously, earning a laugh from him.

“Yeah, alright! Don’t get yer panties in a bunch!” He threw his hands up. “Truce?”

“Yeah, yeah. You got any food?”

“Mimi made us some butties.” He walked towards his leather bag, sitting on the ground. I noticed how the water had made his tighty-whities see-through, and I blushed as I catched myself staring at his arse. I snorted and looked away, internally scolding myself.

“Aren’t ya gonna’ eat, Paulie?” I sighed and dunked my head underwater, hoping to wash away all the impure thoughts that ran through my mind, before getting up and walking towards my own bag, taking out a towel and wrapping myself in it. I sat beside him, trying to avoid staring at his exposed chest. He handed me a butty and I weakly thanked him, noting he was wearing his glasses. We ate in silence, enjoying the view, lost in our own thoughts. We both seemed to be slightly uncomfortable.

“Want a ciggie?” I asked after finishing my food, making a mental note to thank Mimi for the delicious meal – although I probably enjoyed it more for the fact that I was starving than for the exquisite taste of cheese and jam.

“Yeah.” I passed him one and put mine in between my lips, lighting both at once. I watched as he used the lid of the warm beer he’d brought as an ashtray, then getting his guitar and strumming a gentle tune on it; Love Me Tender.

“John Lennon playing Love Me Tender?” I mocked, and he stopped playing just to flash me the V-sign before resuming. I laid my towel out on the ground and stretched myself out, folding an arm behind my head as I finished my cigarette with the other.

“Love me tender, love me sweet. Never let me go…” He began. His voice didn’t quite fit the song, but I didn’t mind. I let my eyes fall closed and enjoyed his gentle singing, sun kissing my skin and the wind cooling it down. I was at ease, clear-minded; it didn’t feel like the last day of summer, lying beside John like that.

The boy, who’d had his eyes trained on the arm of his guitar as his hands skillfully ran up and down it, cast his eyes on me and I heard his breath get caught in his throat.

I had my eyes closed and strands of my wet hair fell upon them. I had my arms flexed, folded behind my head, and a peaceful smile on my lips. John thought I looked like a sweet and innocent angel like that, despite the droplets of water running down my stomach, all the way to a place where a tuft of dark, sparse hairs gathered by my pelvis, covered up solely by a thin layer of wet cloth.

_Fuck_ , John thought, _that bloody bastard--._

Without realizing it, his fingers stopped playing to solely enjoy the view before him, suddenly more alluring to him than all the nature that surrounded us.

I’m not at all boasting, you see -- I’m simply stating the thoughts that ran through my then-best friend’s head right then. To be honest, it still makes me blush to think about.

He thought of touching me. To get rid of the one piece of clothing still left on my body, then slowly run his lips down my long, pale neck, tinting the skin there red, then purple wherever it roamed. I’d complain about the marks, frowning as I lectured him about people finding out.

“Why’d you stop playing?” I asked, eyes snapping open. He nearly choked.

“Uh, nothin’. Nothing at all.” His guitar shielded his apparent erection from view, albeit poorly. “It’s late, isn’t it? We should get going.”

“It’s just—“ I sat up to check my watch. “—Half-two. I like it here. We should stay a little longer. Here, I’ll pl—“ He batted my hand away as I reached for his guitar.

“No need to.”

“I wanted to show you this song I’m working on—“

“Paul. No.” I stared at him in confusion for a few seconds.

Then I pried the guitar from him in one swift motion.

“Oh,” was all I could say to the state he was in.

“It happens,” he said, shrugging, trying to get his thoughts in order and downplay it. He watched me for a second longer, then bit down on his bottom lip, a mad thought coming into his mind. “D’you mind if I… y’know?”

_Well, of course I bloody mind! Do you think it’s easy to sit here, pretending I don’t want anything to do with that?_

“No,” I replied, my need to watch him in action bigger than any other sensible thought. I couldn’t pry my eyes away from the very prominent bulge in his underwear. John didn’t seem to mind.

Naturally, he slid his hand into his only piece of clothing, palming himself underneath it. I swallowed dryly and held myself back from audibly berating him; I wanted to see him, even though I couldn’t say the words and risk weirding him out. The temperature seemed to rise, as did the bulge in my own underwear. John noticed it, panting in between swift motions of his hand and finally freeing himself from the fabric that restrained him. The air was knocked out of me, and only then did I realize how much I yearned for that moment. It’d been a while for me, so I felt the urge to approach him and do something. 

I tried to hold that urge back, to no avail.

“Uh, John, y’know,” I cleared my throat. “I could help you with that.” I inched closer, and his eyes met mine, curiously.

“Huh?”

“If you want me to, of course.” I looked at him, innocently. I didn’t want him to think I’d done it before. I moved to sit beside him, facing him, our eyes locked. He studied me with care, as if considering my offer as he measured his every move.

“What d’you mean by that, Macca?” He finally grew enough confidence to ask. I shrugged a little, inching closer.

“I could touch you,” I said, voice just above a whisper.

Just like a promise.

That seemed to do something to him. His eyes had flashed with lust before as they bore into mine, but I felt entranced by them, then. He seemed to ponder it for a second, slowing his movements down to a halt. I cautiously approached him, and, at the lack of a protest, I wrapped my hand around him slowly, calculating my every move so as not to push him away. I ran a finger over his damp tip, carefully pressing down on it before gripping his length once more, moving my fist up and down. John’s reply came in the form of a pleasured sigh, encouraging me to keep going, along with a firm hand placed on my thigh. Watching him like that was incredibly arousing and made me feel powerful – I had control over him. Over his entire body, so firm and stony before, now weakly melting under my touch, as his fingers dug into my skin where his hand had landed.

“Please, Macca,” he panted. “Don’t stop.” His eyes were closed, in a trance-like state. This was yet another one of my hidden talents, he thought.

At that point my hand was damp, as I alternated between touching his tip with my free hand. The hoarse moans that escaped him aroused me in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time, causing a chain of reactions in me that made it progressively harder not to touch myself, until I finally gave in. I pulled back one hand and wrapped it around myself, following the same pace I had as I stroked him.

“Wait,” he said, upon catching sight of what I’d moved on to do.

“Y-yeah?” I asked, not really wanting to stop but complying, anyway.

“I wanna’ help you, too.” He said, gingerly sliding a hand under the one piece of clothing left on my body. I retreated the hand wrapped around my own length almost immediately, picking back up the pace of my hand around him, drawing more pleasured sighs from the older one, who took his time before starting to move his hand as well.

I wondered if I could kiss him, then. I wanted to. He took my breath away and I felt as though as it was about time he asserted his dominance over me, despite me having some sort of dominance over him, too. His pace was quicker than mine, and I quickened mine to match his, until, not long after, we both reached our peak together. Certainly one of the best things I’d ever experienced, I had to admit.

We didn’t speak as we cleaned ourselves up and got dressed to head back into town, but words weren’t needed between us, then. We’d glance at each other and communicate wordlessly once more. John uttered the first word between us, only as we approached my house.

“This isn’t… odd, is it? Friends do that sorta’ stuff.”

“Uh, yeah.”

_Friends that like their friends,_  I thought.

“Yeah. So it’s normal between blokes.”

_Queer blokes._

“Yeah, sure. Why are we talking about this again?” I raised an eyebrow to spite him. He rolled his eyes and shoved me, playfully. I tried to steady myself, holding onto his arm, but he still managed to strike me. As we stopped before my house, John sighed and smirked at me.

“So… I’ll see you ‘round, Macca.”

“See you ‘round, Johnny.” I said, before heading inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooooo did you like it? i mean, it was my first intimate scene ever so i don't know if it's weird but.... well, leave a comment bellow :)


	9. presque baiser

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul gives John some advice

Julia's house was cozier than Mimi's, friendlier, mirroring the sisters' personalities. The bubbly redhead offered me biscuits as she let me in, informing me that John was in the living room with his sisters and she'd be right there with hot chocolate for us. I took off my coat and hung it on a rack by the door. It was warm inside, and there were still a few Christmas ornaments left hanging around despite the fact that it was almost February and the snow was on its last legs outside. It'd been a long, cold winter, to compensate the scorching heat of the summer, prompting the older Liverpudlians to stay inside, leaving the streets free for the taking for the youth of the city.

Walking into the living room, I saw John trying to teach his little sister, who shared his mother's name, a chord on the guitar. She sighed in annoyance, pushing it back into her older brother's arms. 

"I like it better when you play. It's too hard, doing it myself!"

"But you asked me to--" He didn't finish his sentence, as the girl's eyes fell on me and she flashed me a huge smile, too big for her face, before darting towards me.

"Paul!" She yelled out, throwing her little arms around me where she could reach.

"Paul's here?!" Asked Jacqui, poking her head out of the bathroom. "Paul!" She ran towards me, as well, hugging me along with her sister. I dropped to my knees and grabbed their little noses, earning hearty laughter from both.

"How are you two little monkeys doing?" I asked and moved to tickle their sides, but was interrupted by their pushing and shoving -- which I promptly pretended as if they were enough to sway me off balance. "You're gonna' throw me on the ground like that!"

"Play for us!" Said Jacqui, skipping in place.

"Yeah, play for us! John can't play the piano!" Insisted little Julia, earning a frown from her older brother.

"Paul's come to see me, you fools," he said, jealously. 

"He's ours!" Jacqui threw her arms around me, sticking her tongue out at John.

"Okay, okay, under one condition," I said theatrically, looking between their little faces. "You're gonna' have to--" I lowered my voice to a whisper, out of John's earshot, "--tickle the daylights outta' John." The two girls giggled and nodded their heads.

"What are you all up to?"

"Oh, John..." Began little Julia in a mellow voice, approaching her brother slowly. "You know we love you, right?" The boy looked at me, confused, as the middle sister hugged him, soon to be joined by the youngest. 

"Why are you--" He couldn't finish his question, as two pairs of hands attacked him where he was most ticklish, under the arms and on his stomach, making him burst into laughter as he tried to push them off him. "I hate you, Paul McCartney!" He said in between bursts of laughter, as I walked towards the piano, confident in the fact that he certainly did not hate me at all.

★★★  

"Alright, now you're beginning to bloody annoy me," said John as he followed me through the streets of Liverpool. Snow was falling and we were both wrapped up in layers upon layers of clothing, making it quite difficult to move so much, especially with our guitars in tow. "Where are we going?!"

"Fun, innit?! That's exactly what you do to me!"

"It's a whole other thing when it's colder than a witch's tit outside and you drag me out of the comfort of Mimi's heating system." Complained John once more, despite continuing to follow me.

"You showed me a special place once, didn't ya?" I asked him cautiously, studying him carefully. We hadn't spoken about what went down that summer day at the clearing in the woods, even as it repeated itself the few and far-between times the sun decided to grace Liverpool, as well as one time I'd slept over at John's after a gig the previous December.

"I'm about to do the same," I said. Not that I expected to shove my hand down his trousers when we arrived there. We would freeze to death, in the most unfortunate position possible. My intentions were more innocent in nature, simply to get in his head and maybe help him with whatever he was struggling with at the time. After all, John hadn't been back at his mother's since the last afternoon I spent with them the previous month. That, added to the fact that his characteristic short temper seemed even shorter than usual, lately, and that he'd been at odds with Mimi -- even going as far as thinking about moving out.

In fact, that thought was close to becoming reality. Apparently he'd met some bloke named Stuart at the Art College and the two of them were going to share an apartment, which, frankly, made me a little apprehensive. I was still in school and always had to be home by midnight, which wasn't at all cool if compared to John's friend, who constantly wore sun shades and seemed to captivate everybody around, but me. Maybe that was because of the glimmer in John's eyes as he spoke about Stu, which annoyed me to no end -- for no reason, really, as me and John were definitely closer than he was with Stu. Closer in ways nobody could imagine...

"Paul, what the bloody hell are you doing?" He asked as he watched me approach a rundown abandoned building. 

"Taking you to my special place!"

"Special place for murder, you mean."

"Yeah, 'cause it wasn't odd at all when you took me alone into the woods."

"Yeah, whatever. Hurry up, son." I rolled my eyes once more before climbing the time-beaten steps to the house. 

It took us two or so more minutes to climb up onto the roof. John complained all the way up there about how we'd find bums fucking inside there so I told him to shut it. When we got to the top, I sprawled out a piece of cloth I'd grabbed on the way and gathered up a pair of dusty old pillows. Lennon frowned, clearly confused by why I'd have belongings of mine up on the roof of a random abandoned building.

"Care to explain yerself?" He asked, sitting on a pillow next to me as he stared out at the view before us. It was a high building, higher than most of other Liverpudlian buildings, especially in the suburbs. I shrugged, pulling my guitar into my lap.

"Me Mum used to live 'round here when she was a kid, and she used to come up to pass the time. When the owner died, his son never looked after it, so it was left abandoned. She brought me here once when I told her I wanted to go to London and stand on the buildings, fly around like a superhero. We didn't have the money to take the trip, of course. I was 'round six years old, so it was more than enough." I sighed, watching a cloud of vapour form before me. "So I asked her to bring me here more and more often, 'til I grew up a bit and forgot all about the place. Then... the cancer started and we had her around less and less, so I started comin' here because it reminded me of her. I'd just sit with my legs hanging off the edge and think about life. Sort of as if I was telling her about my problems and asking for her advice. And after she..." I cleared my throat. "After she died, I couldn't look at her tombstone. This is where we used to come to mourn her, since we didn't want to do it in front of Dad and upset 'im."

John listened intently, head hanging a bit to the side. He seemed uncertain about what all of that meant, but he didn't really care; he felt my pain and he wanted to throw his arms around me, but that'd be ridiculous, wouldn't it?

Blokes don't hug. 

I rubbed at my eyes and set my guitar down, before standing up and walking towards the edge of the building, sitting there with my legs hanging off it, like I used to do when I was younger.

"What are you doing?!" He approached, eyes flashing with worry.

"I'm not gonna' jump, if that's what you're thinking. Don't be daft." I tapped the floor next to me, inviting him to sit closer.

"I'd really rather not," he said with a smirk.

"C'mon, mate," I rolled my eyes. "Or is the tough teddy-boy John Lennon afraid of heights?" I teased, squinting at him. He frowned.

"Shut up." He came closer, sitting beside me finally. Oh, John, it's so easy to turn you. "I'm not the only teddy boy, though, huh?" He gestured towards my hair, coiffed up into a particularly high pompadour. A few curls fell down on my forehead, peppered by snowflakes. As much as I hated to admit it, I'd styled it like that just to make myself look as cool as Stu.

"Figured I could use a change."

"Good. I like it." He said, earning a smile from me. I turned my attention to the sea of city lights below us, and the few people roaming the streets despite the freezing cold, reduced in size by perspective.

"L'appel du vide," I mumbled to myself, deep in thought, remembering how my mother had told me about the expression when she'd said she had the urge to jump.

"Huh?"

"'S french," I explained. "It's what you call it when you feel the urge to jump from a high place, like this, hoping to fly, even though we know we'd fall to our death."

"Weird lad," said Lennon, inching away from the edge. I laughed.

We played each other songs we'd written that afternoon, and even started another, up there. We could have stayed like that all night long, but the cold beat our mutual desire to plunge into each other's inner worlds, making us head back to the bus stop. One look from John told me he wanted to head to the upper deck of the bus, even though it wasn't quite as warm up there as it was in the lower one. I shrugged and followed, taking my usual spot behind him.

He surprised me, though, by sitting next to me. Usually he'd be kneeling on the one in front of me, arms folded over the backrest. Instead, he took my guitar and set it down where he usually sat, and looked out towards the stairs.

"I had a fight with Julia," he confessed, despite it not being necessary -- I knew him well enough, it was obvious. "I overheard her talkin' to Bobby and... I felt like an old toy she reaches for when she's bored, then throws it back away again when she's done. She was going to leave me again, so I left her before she could. But she stopped by Mimi's and there was a big fight, and we all said shite we shouldn't 've said and..." He sighed heavily through his nose, conveying his frustration. My eyes were trained on his face; at such a young age, he carried such pain in his soul, and he shouldn't have to be put through the half of it. I held his hand, suddenly -- he seemed surprised, but he didn't pull away.

"They're your family, Johnny." I said, simply. "Every family has its fights, but they always make up in the end. Try not to be angry at your Mum, despite all of her mistakes... She was so young when you were born. And teenagers are stupid, at the best of times. You know that. You live among the worst kinda' teenager." He snorted, despite the tears that clouded his eyes, not daring to fall. "We shouldn't miss the opportunity to be around people that we love. That's what I learned from, y'know, Mum's passing and all that. Fighting's tiring. Pride's tiring. Peace's so much better..."

"'S not that easy, Paul."

"'Course it is." I squeezed his hand, trying to convey a sense of security to him. "She loves you, John. Past's in the past, what's happening now is what's important." I sighed. "Just... know I'm here for you, alright?" I was about to let go of his hand, but he held onto mine tighter, looking at me.

His eyes were locked onto mine, and then they fell upon my lips. I wondered what would happen if I gave in to my urge to kiss him. That thought was cut short, though, as I could hear the sound of footsteps approaching. We dropped each other's hands and a skinny lad, friend of mine, appeared on the top deck of the bus, before inhabited only by John and I.

"'Lo, Paul." He smiled at me sweetly, approaching us hesitantly, intimidated by Lennon's glare. 

"John." I elbowed him. "This is George."

"Yeah, he's auditioned." He turned his attention to the dark-haired boy, who'd taken a seat next to us. "Sorry, kid, you're too young."

"Quit being a prick and listen. I swear he's good," I insisted, staring at him defiantly, as if daring him to go against my instincts.

"Look at his face, Paul. They wouldn't even let us into half the bloody pubs."

"You said the same thing about me, yet here I am." I turned my attention to the youngest. "Go, George. Show 'im," I said, handing him my guitar.

John was so clearly impressed when George played him Raunchy. I flashed him a smug smile and he flashed me the V-sign.

"So?" Asked George, expectantly, as soon as he was done.

"I'll think about it," sighed Lennon, letting his head fall back onto the seat, as if exhausted from giving into my whims.

"Welcome to the band, Geo." I winked at him.

★★★  

When I arrived home, I couldn't help but wonder about what the hell was happening between me and John. I mean, it was quite clear that he was into boys, like me, but it was also clear that that wasn't something he was entirely comfortable with. I respected that. I let him have the lead, tried not to rush things, and was never the first to suggest anything. However, things seemed to get more and more complicated with time, more than they'd ever been with Ivan or anybody else; and we'd gotten much further than John and I had, at that point.

I couldn't quite understand the torrent of feelings I had for John Lennon, and frankly, I wasn't willing to come to a conclusion like "you love him" or something ridiculous like that. Was there even such a thing as a bloke being in love with another, rather than something that stopped simply at physical attraction? Why didn't things like that come with a comprehensive guide?

_Because that's stupid,_  I thought.  _What would it even be called? "A Comprehensive Guide on Things That Might Happen When Both Girls And Boys Get You Hard"?_

"--I know, I know!" I heard Jim McCartney's urgent voice coming from the kitchen, and I curiously approached to hear him better. "Tell Mr. Miller I'll have the money by next week. I know it was meant for this week. Look, I'll work overtime and that should fix it. I just need another week."

I sighed and headed upstairs to my room, thoughts of John interrupted by more urgent matters -- how could I help my Dad?

I had an idea. A genius idea, but not a good one. I sighed.

Maybe John would kill me. Who knew. But it was worth a shot.


	10. un petit secret vulgaire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Paul starts playing as a duo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things are getting hotter now....

"So, Macca," began Lennon, casually. He had a cigarette balanced between his lips and a serene look in his eyes that told me the whole world could come crashing down around him and he wouldn't as much as bat an eye. "What did you want with me?"

"Huh?" I played dumb, as I tapped the ashes off the end of my cigarette and onto the tree roots below. We sat in a park as we looked over what we'd written that week.

"You're rather naughty today, aren't you? I like it." He inched towards me, eyes boring into mine. I swallowed dryly, trying to whisk my mind away from the gutter, where it had gone at the sound of his words. "You want me to do something for you, don't ye?" I sighed, exhaling smoke through my nose. I was cornered; John wasn't dumb enough to be manipulated like that.

He referred to the fact that I'd helped him steal some cigarettes and booze and even records before, by distracting the shop workers. He'd said the next step was to swipe a record player, to take to his new apartment.

"I want to do something with you. Just the two of us. Like a gig outside the band, y'know? Me Da' needs money." I said, slowly, hoping he'd catch where I was going.

"Alright. Where?"

"The Dart..." At that, he choked on his cigarette smoke.

"What?!" He nearly screamed, which earned him a shove from me.

"You heard me!" I whisper-shouted back at him, shooting him a glare. "No need to make a fuss about it."

"You want me to play at a queer pub? Really?" I sighed.

"I think they prefer the term 'human beings'."

"What, are you one of 'em?" Said the man who'd almost kissed me the previous night. "Fuck, no! People'll think we're queer, too."

"John, think for a second, will you?" I laid a hand on his shoulder, putting myself in a very dangerous position. He could easily take it the wrong way, bash my head against the tree trunk and leave me there. It wouldn't be the first time it happened.

"Nobody wants to play in places like that for that exact reason, so they'd pay us a good amount to do it. We can wear makeup or hats, and no-one would know it's us."

"Now you want to wear makeup too," he snorted. "What's next? Me calling you Quick-mouth Kelly or somethin'?"

"You're ridiculous."

"You're mad."

"Money," I reminded him.

"Fuck, alright." He sighed heavily through his nose. "Just once! Then we'll forget the whole thing ever happened."

"Alright," I echoed him, smiling from ear to ear. I couldn't believe I'd succeeded in convincing him.

★★★  

The pub owner didn't ask too many questions, but certainly offered us a good amount of money -- more than we'd often make playing with the band and splitting the amount between ourselves. John was clearly nervous as we spoke to Mr. Gilbert, but I'd instructed him to stay quiet and let me do the talking -- which, to my surprise, he did. And so there we were in the loo somewhere behind the stage, some sort of improvised dressing room. I didn't know how to put on makeup, but I did know someone who did.

Someone who took a while to show up, someone who'd told me about the pub and all the insane things that went down inside it in the first place.

"Ivan." I smiled, as I saw my old friend for the first time in a while, walking into our "dressing room". He had his whole face painted, somewhat like a bird. I approached him and gave him a hug. I could feel John's confused eyes on me. "Glad you came."

"Dad's not in town," he explained. I nodded. Ivan was quite wary of him; he'd told me about the most terrible stuff that had happened at home because of his dad's strictness. "Uh, you wanna sleep over at mine, tonight? After this?" He looked at me almost pleadingly, hoping for a positive answer. I bit my lip and scratched at the back of my neck, slightly nervous.

"I'm sleeping at John's, actually." The boy lifted an eyebrow at John, as if he'd only just noticed him there.

"Oh, I see," said Ivan. I shook my head in response, letting out a nervous laugh.

"No, you don't," I tried to explain, without delving too deep. I touched his arm. "Can you do our makeup?"

"Yeah." He looked between John and myself. "We'll chat later."

Not too long after, I watched as John's face was painted into an orange cat, and mine into a grey one with long false eyelashes. Weirdly enough, the older was quiet throughout the process. I approached him after Ivan said we were done, and he had to leave to meet his friends.

"You alright?" His myopic eyes tried to focus on me.

"Huh?"

"You're doing as I say, today," I explained, "I suppose there's something off." John laughed.

"No, nothing's off. I've just found out Ivan, who you're always on about, is queer and I'm about to play with my face painted as a cat to a load of other queers." I sighed.

"Cut it out."

"Look at the shit you make me do!" He gestured to his own painted face, as evidence.

"I'm not making you do anything, Lennon. I can't do that; I can't make you do shite. If you'd quit being a narrow-minded arse and just enjoy the night, maybe you'd even have fun!" I put on a tophat I'd brought from home, befitting the dark overcoat I wore over my shirt. The older boy didn't say anything, instead just looked at me with a frown. "If it bothers you so much, you don't have to get up onstage and play for people 'like that'. I'll hand you your share of the money either way. If you change your mind, you know where I'll be." I left the "dressing room" to sit at the piano on the stage.

I cracked my knuckles and cleared my throat, not really knowing what to say into the mic. Usually, John was the one to utter the first words as we got up on stage, his charisma drawing the attention of the crowd. I stalled for a moment, looking at the people there; many wore makeup, as we did, but didn't seem at all bothered about it. Others wore strange clothes, like a tuxedo with nothing underneath, women's dresses and even short shorts that looked more like underwear. Other than that, I could see a few couples kissing, which I found quite unusual, never having seen two men kiss in public before. I blinked a few times, the long fake eyelashes brushing my cheeks, and cleared my throat once more, getting ready to say something -- before I heard the familiar nasal voice that had followed me for months.

"Ladies and genitals, welcome to the Dart!" He said, holding a mic in his hand, with a sly smile playing on his lips. I wondered if his tone or expression would be different, had he been able to see the people in the crowd. "I'm Johnny Boy and this is my partner, Macca." He gestured towards me, and I waved. "We're gonna' play you a few songs tonight. I hope you all enjoy yourselves, and if not, I'd like to ask you to throw fish at us instead of tomatoes. We're pretty hungry." John covered the mic with his hand, turning towards me. "You know what to do. Jailhouse Rock," he said, as he began to play the opening chords of the song on his guitar.

It was a fun night. John would entertain the audience with jokes about how stupid we looked. He'd sit on the piano and run his hand through his hair, as if he were a woman trying to be seductive; roll his hips like Elvis, deepening his voice to sound like him. Whenever it was my turn to sing he'd interrupt me, putting on a show for the people watching. It ended with us both on our guitars, back to back, bobbing our heads to the music despite missing a drummer.

"Give it up, fellas, for Macca and Johnny Boy!" the pub owner said into the microphone at the end, earning complaints from some of the men who, wanted us to play a few more songs, and catcalls from others. We walked together back to the makeshift dressing room with matching winning smiles, covered in sweat that washed away our stage makeup. "You were brilliant!" Said the stocky man. "You need to come back next week. I'll pay you more, if that's what it takes -- we've got a full house!"

We looked between each other.

"Alright. We'll be back next week," said John.

And thus came to be our double life. We'd rehearse songs for The Dart on our own, and with the rest of the band for other gigs. We soaked up the lively energy of the place, Macca & Johnny Boy brought us shining smiles and full pockets. My father was thrilled about the money we supposedly earned from performing as the Quarrymen.

Our already strong bond onstage became unbreakable. So much so, words weren't needed between us anymore, exchanged glances were enough.

Until we began to communicate through songs. Saying what we meant while playing rather on a face-to-face conversation, which eventually became a tradition, actually.

Our habit of being together here and there grew exponentially. We'd look at each other onstage as Johnny boy & Macca, our eyes flashing with lust, then we'd head backstage, our hands exploring each other's bodies, then with our mouths; and what first was only The Dart soon became every pub we went to, together.

It was sort of exciting, really. To suck him off in the loo with everybody outside, so close, they could barge in at any moment and catch us like that. To hear him moan my name as his fingers threaded through my hair; the sound of his low voice as he begged me to take him further and further until he came in my mouth.

The Dart was just another dirty little secrets to add to our growing pile; something else that made our intimate moments even more exciting and feverish. Just something that opened John's eyes and allowed us the courage to express our desire for one another.

We'd still never talk about what happened, however. And I still didn't feel comfortable discussing what the hell was going on between us, either, on an emotional level. John was probably as lost as I was in that regard. We'd never kissed -- not that I didn't dream about it; I did it every time I saw his smile or heard him sing into the microphone, eyes closed as if he could feel the music in his soul. Perhaps I liked John Lennon too much to my own good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so hey  
> i might take a while to post the next one since my translater didn't send me yet  
> but anyway, leave a comment if you enjoyed it ;)


	11. premier baiser

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Paul have a fight -- and then sex

George’s fingers sauntered over the guitar’s arm so naturally, it was nearly impossible not to admire him as he played the instrument. The talent residing inside of his slender fifteen year-old body was unquestionable, and fascinated each and every one who witnessed it, along with his lopsided smile and unique charm. John had finally let him in the band after weeks of my coaxing, and it didn’t take long for him to admit that he didn’t regret it – seeing as Mimi hated the boy as soon as her eyes fell upon him. He wore a leather jacket and a hair high like a turban on his head, after all – that was sure to mean a terrible influence on John.

We used to go out a lot, just the three of us, apart from the rest of the band. We got on well together, it was plain to see. Lennon wouldn’t admit to it, but he was happy to have Harrison on board. We sounded so much better with him, not to mention that George was fun and smart. We grew up together, pretty much. We’d take the same bus to school and lived close to each other.

And, since John always hung around me, that brought the two of them closer, indirectly.

We’d been rehearsing at the youngest band member’s house. That was another positive thing about having him on board; Mrs. Harrison encouraged her son’s passion, so we’d always gave somewhere to practice – seeing as Mimi had thrown shoes at us the last time we’d tried to get the band together at her house and John’s current place was much too small. Almost four hours into repeating the same few songs and sharing opinions on what could be made better in each of them, George’s mum graced us with a tray of cold water. I downed mine in three gulps, thirsty as I was, and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. I turned to John, midway through his second one.

“We should wrap it up,” said Eric. “Let’s grab some beer. It’s Friday, for Christ’s sake.”

All of our eyes fell on John, as if he was the one to decide our fate – the perks of being our leader, I suppose. The copper-haired boy glanced towards me and lifted an eyebrow; I replied with a shrug of my shoulders and a wily smile.

“I think it’s a great idea, Eric.”

We arrived at a nearby pub not too long after. The lads ordered beer, while I opted for scotch. George moaned about his English homework, and I promised to help him with it some other time. A few of the remaining boys stood up to chat up a group of birds, who laughed at Len’s attempt of being charming. At that moment John sat next to me, passing me a little notebook with its pages littered by his terrible handwriting. I squinted, trying to read the words.

“’S a good song,” I said, running a hand through my hair as I thought about what I could change in it to make it better, how to fill in the gaps where he couldn’t think of any words.

“I know, I wrote it meself.” I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help but smile, turning my attention to the task at hand. John watched me closely as I worked, as if trying to memorize every trace of movement in my face. I ran my hand over the pages, tweaking the words, mindful of the rhymes and thinking up riffs that could make it a good song to dance to.

“I think I’m done.” I handed back his pen and notebook. He held it closer to his face and scanned the words.

“Perfect,” he said as he put away his belongings and fished for a cigarette. “George isn’t that great at this, is he?” He gestured towards our bandmates, engaged in a suggestive conversation with the girls; the one talking to George looked at him as if she wanted him to back off. I shrugged.

“He’s just a bit nervous,” I said. John exhaled smoke and passed me his cigarette, which I promptly took a drag of.

“He looks about to crap ‘imself.” I choked on the smoke.

“ _John_!”

“’S true!” He laughed, shaking his head. “Bet he’s a virgin.”

“He’s fifteen. It’s normal.”

“I wasn’t a virgin at fifteen.”

“You probably lost it at ten, if yer tales are true,” I teased. He rolled his eyes, but laughed. I took another drag of his cigarette before handing it back.

“How ‘bout you, Macca?” I lifted an eyebrow at the question, finishing the scotch left in my glass. I sighed, thinking I’d probably only be able to afford one more glass. “Are  _you_  a virgin?” He asked, and I bit my lip, not knowing whether I should or not dignify the question with an answer.

“What’s it matter to you?”

“So you are.” He laughed at me, mockingly, earning him a loud sigh from me.

“So what if I am? What’s the matter with that?” I flashed him a sardonic smile, mirroring one of his own. John shrugged once more.

“Nothin’. Just thought a pretty boy like you, Macca, would’ve grabbed some lucky girl’s attention by now, is all.”

_Boys, too, apparently_ , I thought. I ordered another scotch and ignored him.

“Paul.” John poked me, but I didn’t look at him. He sighed, then, and laid his head on the table, in my field of view. “Paulie, don’t be pissed.”

“’M not pissed. But sometimes I remember how daft you can be.”

“I was only messin’ with ye,” he said, standing up. My drink arrived and I took two generous sips.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“You’re a bloody miserable sod today, aren’t ya?” He rolled his eyes at me, and I laughed.

“Too much time around you, I s’pose.” John laid his hand over his heart in mock shock, mouth forming a dramatic O-shape.

“’M not miserable. Or a sod.”

“You’re  _such_  a miserable sod that if you got paid for it, you’d own this bloody town.”

“If I were rich, I’d go far away. Nothin’ good ever happens in this bleedin’ hellhole. What would I own it for?” I pondered his question for a few seconds, and agreed.

The evening unfurled in its usual way: the two of us sat together, chatting about something only we could understand, exchanging laughter and friendly dares as the alcohol made its way into our systems, dulling our senses. At one point, John announced he needed to piss and disappeared into the bathroom, a lovely blonde girl taking his place beside me. She was nice, her name was Loraine and her laughter was as sweet as her kiss. I pulled her lean frame closer to mine as I heard the sound of John clearing his throat, somewhere behind the girl. He glared at the two of us, clearly annoyed.

“Macca, you’re pissed.”

“Mm, ‘m not.” And I wasn’t. Going out with John so often over the last few months had built up my alcohol tolerance; certainly, I’d be falling over drunk had I drank as much as I had that night a year ago. But I felt tipsy, at best.

“Paul, we gotta’ go now. You don’t wanna’ get home after midnight, do ya?”

“It’s bloody nine!” I looked between the blonde and John, trying to understand what was happening there. Was he interested in her? The thought alone was enough to fill me with anger. With so many lovely ladies around, why did he need the one  _I_ was with?

“Paul, come on.”

“Sorry, darlin’, I’ll be right back,” I said to her as I stood, making my way to the pub entrance with Lennon behind me. I wiped her lipstick off my mouth, with the back of my hand. “What’s your bloody problem?!”I asked as soon as we were out of her earshot. I glared at him, equal parts furious and worried for his mental sanity.

“What’s  _my_  problem? What’s  _your_  problem?! I left to the loo for five bleedin’ minutes and when I come back I find you with yer tongue halfway down some random bird’s throat!”

“Oh, ‘cause you’ve never done that  _or worse_  before!” I snarled; I couldn’t count on my fingers the amounts of times I’d found Lennon in much more compromising situations with girls.

“Yeah, but that’s  _me_ —you’re not me.”

“Oh, great point, Sherlock,” I said, sardonically. “D’you think you’re the  _only_  one who can—“

“You don’t  _do_  that sort’a shit, Paul!” He angrily ran a hand through his hair. “And what’s more, if she let you shove yer tongue in ‘er mouth in five minutes, she can’t be a  _decent_ one.”

“Are you bloody  _mad_?!” I nearly screamed, anger painting my face red. “She’s having fun, same as I was before you showed up. You don't  _own_ me, John Lennon.”

That seemed to catch him off guard.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, don’t play daft. You bloody well  _know_  what I’m talking about.” I sighed. “Y’know what? Forget it. Go home. You’ve had enough to drink.” I walked back into the pub, made up an excuse to the lovely blonde and stormed out the back door.

★★★  

My eyes were shut, half of my body under the covers; but try as I might, I just couldn’t fall asleep. I groaned and sat up in bed, looking around my room, dimly-lit by the streetlights outside, pouring through the open window. The shadows there used to give me nightmares, when I was younger. I ran a hand over my hair; my fringe fell flat over my forehead, having washed the Vaseline away before heading to bed. The taste of scotch was still there in my mouth, somewhere, even after brushing my teeth. I gazed at the floor, eyeing all the scrunched up pieces of paper where I’d tried to write a real song – not just a dancing little tune to play with the band at our gigs. I sighed, thinking that maybe I just hadn’t been born to touch hearts with words, like all my favourite authors could. I wanted to go downstairs and sit at the piano, but it was two in the bloody morning and my father would kill me if I did. I stood up, ready to flick on the light and look for a book to read when a small tap against my window grabbed my attention.

I turned to face it, squinting my eyes. My room was on the second floor, so I wondered what could have caused it – and then it repeated itself again, and I was able to see a pebble bounce against the glass. I ran to it and looked down, only to find John standing on the lawn.

“What are you doing here?!”

“I got locked out. Can I come up?” He asked, simply.

I thought for a second; we should be able to sit down and have a chat. He was my best friend, I didn’t want us to be at odds with each other. Then I remembered it was two in the morning.

“No, John, Dad’s gonna’ hear me come downstairs and open the door.”

“It’s alright, I can come up there.”

“And how are you gonna’ do that? Teleportation?”

“Yes or no?!” I sighed, wondering just what my father would do to me if he found John had been here.

“Alright, I’ll go get a—“ I didn’t have time to finish, as John gripped onto the spacing between the bricks and lifted himself, scaling the wall. “Are you  _mad_?!” I whisper-yelled at him, watching as he grabbed at the drainpipe on the wall, approaching the window to my room without a word.

I opened it as wide as it’d go so he could come through, offering him my hand to pull him in. John grabbed it and he was inside, fixing his hair with a hand and looking at me. He still wore the same clothes as last time I saw him, but seemed less drunk, despite the smell of alcohol mixed with cologne that still clung to him. He had a small wily smile on his face as he watched me.

“You could’a fallen to yer death there! D’you think you can just—?!“ I didn’t get to finish my sentence.

John pressed his lips to mine and pulled me in by the waist like that was nothing. Like he’d done that countless times before. I was still several inches shorter than him then, and as such, he had to bend down a little to properly kiss me. My fingers automatically moved to thread through his hair and my feet brought me closer to him, as his tongue desperately moved to explore my mouth, albeit still somewhat tenderly.

Our bodies fit together perfectly, like pieces of a puzzle, as if we’d been made for this exact moment in time – as John walked us backwards towards my bed, hand slipping under my shirt and caressing the skin just below my hip. We’d been together before in much more promiscuous ways, but nothing could compare to the intimacy of the kisses and the scraping of his teeth down my neck, hand making its way up my back. Nothing was as intimate as my fingers fumbling to open the buttons on his shirt, desperate for more contact.

“John,” I called for him as his mouth closed around a tender patch of skin on my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. “Johnny,” I repeated, trying to get away from the lusty haze we’d found ourselves in, to think rationally about the whole situation.

“Huh?”

“What are you doing?” I asked, forcing my eyes open.

I was pushed up against the wall, John kneeling opposite me on the small bed with tousled hair and lips red from kissing. The glint in his eyes wasn’t cool or sly as it’d been before, but instead they were filled with lust – just like when I’d suck him off at the back of a pub after a gig. It didn’t help me in my quest to keep a clear mind.

“Kissing you,” he answered, obviously, before dipping in to continue doing just that. I stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“But  _why_?”

“Because I bloody  _want_   _to_. Fuck, Paul, you didn’t seem opposed to it a moment ago—what’s there to discuss?”

“I just don’t want you to regret it later,” I said lowly, to which he squinted his eyes and took my hand.

“Does this look regretful to you?” – he directed it to his trousers, so I could feel the growing bulge there.

“You’ve got a point.” I squeezed and kissed him again, feeling him pant against my lips. I pushed him backwards so he stood on the floor, stretching out the kiss as long as I could, until I had to break it to pull down his trousers. Meanwhile, he got rid of his shirt, throwing it off to the side.

“Sit,” I told him, simply, as I pulled my own t-shirt over my head. He did, but not without a second of hesitation, eyeing me curiously.

I straddled his lap, dipping in to kiss him once more. His hands slid into my only piece of clothing left, open palms clasping my backside as he pulled me closer. Our erections pressed together and I felt him moan into my mouth, desire burning our skin. His firm hands moved to my waist so he could lay me down on the bed and he followed, mirroring our previous position as he, instead, knelt over my body, pressing down onto me like the contact made him crazy. His lips moved downwards, exploring my neck and shoulders and stomach, until they reached the waist of my boxers. He got rid of it, then, and I watched, prick twitching in interest at the sight of his face  _so close_  to it. He wrapped his long fingers around it, then, and began to move his fist as his tongue carefully glazed the tip.

“Fuck, John,” I moaned, before biting down on my lip to shut myself up, remembering my father slept in the next room. My entire body felt as though as it burned and so did John’s, the heat obliterating the cool night air.

“Paul,” he called, voice just above a whisper. I nodded for him to continue, afraid that my voice would break if I tried to speak. “How are we gonna’ do this?” He asked, uncertain.

I opened my eyes slowly, watching him as I wondered what the hell he meant by that. It was hard to make sense out of anything, what with the way his hands still worked up and down my length, making me involuntarily thrust my hips forward to the rhythm. Only then did it strike me that John had never done this before – although he could have fooled me, with the way he was able to please me like nobody else had before him. I couldn’t hold back a smirk as my mind flashed back to several hours earlier, when he’d teased me for supposedly being a virgin.

“There’s some lotion in the drawer there,” I said, and John immediately stopped.

“Wait, you want me to…?” He didn’t finish the sentence. I frowned at him for stopping, but sat up, anyway.

“Huh?”

“You want me to… y’know,  _fuck_  you?” I could tell he tried not to sound either desperate or frightened, but he wasn’t quite as successful as he’d hoped.

“Well, yeah,” I replied simply. “Isn’t that what you came here for?” John swallowed hard. I moved to straddle his lap again, pressing downwards onto his erection as I moved my lips to his ear, earning a desperate succession of moans from him.

“Are you sure?” He asked, several seconds later. His eyes had fallen closed and he seemed in a sort of trance, as I bounced slowly on his lap, my prick flat against his stomach.

“Yeah,” I answered, crawling over to my bedside table to retrieve the small jar of lotion Ivan had given me so long ago.

I felt John’s eyes on me, seemingly wondering if that was really a good idea. Not that he didn’t seem to want it – I could tell he did, by the way he’d acted just seconds prior –, but it appeared that the thought hadn’t crossed his mind until I suggested it.

All thoughts disapeared, though, as I approached him, handing him the lotion.

“You  _really_  want this?” He asked once more, cautiously, and I kissed him again, left hand cupping him through the thin fabric of his underwear.

“ _Yes_ , John, I want you to fuck me.” I said the words, my lips brushing his ear, and I felt him shiver, his hand on my back, as he laid me down on the bed.

I heard the bottle cap pop open and positioned myself where I was meant to be. I shivered as he introduced a first finger, cold and wet, and I could feel his hesitance as he moved it clumsily in and out of me, almost as if wordlessly asking if he was doing it right. He took his time before sliding in a second finger, and I hissed in pain.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asked, careful eyes trained on me, and I simply shook my head and moved my left hand downwards to touch myself. Soon enough the pain paled in comparison with the pleasure, and I moved my hips to better adjust our positions, seeking to find the one spot that would make it all worth it. I sighed throatily, and I could tell John was surprised that I seemed to enjoy it that much.

As his third finger entered me, I felt the sharp burn again. I didn’t mind it, though, holding back a pained expression and instead focusing on enjoying the in-and-out movements that grew in precision as John got used to it. It was impossible not to be reminded of the time I used to do this often. Weirdly enough, it was better with John, despite his lack of experience. There was something about him, and I still didn’t know what it was.

“Can I?” He asked reluctantly, deceived by my apparent pleasure.

“ _Please_.” I didn’t  _mean_  to moan out the word, but it happened, anyway.

John retreated his fingers and I immediately missed them, feeling incomplete. I fought to open my eyes and looked at John, watching as he finally rid himself of his underwear. I sighed, licking my lips at the sight of his now completely bare body, erection pressing up against the lower part of his stomach. He popped open the bottle of lotion once more and spewed some on his hand, before slicking himself with it.

He entered me, then, both our eyes falling closed for different reasons; his for the wave of pleasure that hit him and mine for the burning sensation. He had to stop for a moment – half to let me grow accustomed to it and half to process the fact that this was without a doubt the most pleasurable feeling he’d felt in his life – and it was happening with another man. Several seconds later he began to move his hips, slowly, tentatively, at first. I squeezed my eyes shut at the pain until it faded into pleasure, as he increased the pace of his thrusts. I could feel him fill me entirely and then draw back, over and over, making it hard to keep my moans low enough not to be heard outside of the room, especially when he finally found the right spot.

“Shit,  _yeah_ ,” I whimpered, a wave of pleasure crashing hard over my entire body. “Don’t stop.” I begged and he delivered fiercely, making me reach my peak seconds before him; my name on his lips, filling me with his seed. I kissed him to shut him up, the lustful sounds from both of us rising in volume as we completely lost control.

Not too long after, John sat up in bed, only then seemingly realizing the mess we’d both made and all the marks he’d left on my body. He heaved out a sigh, resting his head on the wall behind him as he watched me, face partly obscured by his upper arm.

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t ya?” He echoed what he’d said long ago when I’d told him I could play the bass, too, as he used the bedcover to clean himself off.

“You haven’t seen nothing yet, Johnny.” I laughed weakly, positioning myself in front of him. I laid a hand on his thigh, our eyes locked.

“Did I hurt you?” He asked sheepishly, a glint of worry in his eyes. I could tell he couldn’t really wrap his head around how that could have been good for me.

“No, don’t worry.” I laid my head on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me to his chest. I wiped the sweat off my forehead before relaxing against his body.

“You sure?” He asked after a few seconds, and I heaved out a frustrated sigh.

“John, it’s not the first time I’ve done this,” I said, too tired to think over my words properly. I just wanted him to shut up so we could fall asleep.

“ _What_?!” He asked, jumping backwards as if he’d just been shocked. Only then, watching the bewildered look on his face, did I realize how badly I’d fucked up. “What do you  _mean_?”

“Nothing. Forget it.” I held onto his shoulder, but he jumped away again.

“Tell me the truth, McCartney—are you fucking  _queer_?!” I could see the pain and anger flash in his eyes.

“Shh! My Dad!” John rolled his eyes. “You’re not the first bloke I’ve been with, is all. What’s wrong with that?” I whisper-shouted back, frowning.

John didn’t answer. He turned his back towards me and began to silently redress. I sighed and scrambled to my feet.

“John, you’re being ridiculous.” I grabbed his arm, his lack of response filling me with despair and my eyes clouding over with tears. “Look at me!”

“Jus’ leave me alone, alright?” He batted my hand away and turned towards me, spitting the words at me filled with hate, causing my eyes to finally overflow. “I’m not gonna’ wake your father up,” he said, heading out the window before I could so much as utter a word in protest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yup, john's a idiot
> 
> soooo,,,, are you guys still reading it?? i miss the comments :(((


	12. mauvaise influence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John sucks Paul off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! loved the comments previous chapter and looking forward to more of them. hope you like this thing

I sighed, letting out all the frustration that filled my lungs. Running my hand through my hair, I looked at myself in the mirror, watching the cat-painted face that stared back at me. I was sweating and shaking from head to toe; I knew everything was about to go completely wrong in a matter of seconds. And when Mr. Gilbert entered the dressing room, face red with anger for having to return the money he earned from the patrons hoping to see Macca & Johnny Boy, I was sure this was not an illusion and that John had, indeed, disappointed me in a way he'd never had before; by not showing up to a gig. None of our fights had ever kept him from being professional -- what was happening?

Ivan helped me remove the makeup on the sink of his bathroom, seeing as the owner of the place we were meant to play at kicked me out before I had the chance to. I stared at my reflection, noting the few traces of black paint still lurking on certain crevices of my face. I reminded of doing the same thing the previous week; had John by my side, cursing Ivan for overdoing the snout.

"But why didn't John show up?" He asked me, as I combed my hair back.

"Because he's a wanker, that's why." I promptly replied. "Ivan, thank you, again, but I've got somewhere to be now."

The boy smiled and nodded his head, informing me that he understood. He walked me to the door and hugged me goodbye, telling me I could always count on him for anything I needed.

 My feet found their way to the bus stop, where I caught a bus towards the Liverpool College of Art and the apartments some of its students resided in. The one in particular I was interested in could or could not be there; it was Friday, he porbabbly was out partying with Stu or his other friends. The thought that John might have skipped on the gig to be with Stuart made me ball my hands into fists, fingernails digging into my palms as I hopped out of the bus and stomped towards the apartment building John used to live in. I banged on the door and Lennon, looking terribly impatient, opened it for me with glasses halfway down his long nose and paint-stained hands.

 His expression softened as he recognized me, as if surprised to find me there.

"Paul...?"

"Yeah. Why weren't you at The Dart tonight?" I spat, pushing past him, letting myself into his apartment before he could have a chance to deny me entrance. I looked around and my eyes fell on an unfinished painting against the wall, justifying the paint that coloured John's fingers.

"Where I go or don't go is me own business," he spat back, furrowing his brows. "I told you to leave me alone."

"It's one thing to have a problem with me because of some stupid paranoia in your head; it's another entirely to skip a gig and have the owner throw shit at me until I was out the door!" That seemed to catch him off-guard, his expression shifting from anger to concern.

"Did he hurt you?"

"Don't act like you give a shit now. You're a selfish, stupid bloody hypocrite; if you really have a problem with queers you shouldn't have fucked me." I turned on my heels, ready to storm off, but John grabbed me by the arm. "Let go of me!"

"Who the fuck d'you think you are, storming into me house and talkin' to me like that?!" He was shouting at me, red-faced, looking about to beat me up. I worried that he would.

"Well, I'm not the one who's got a problem with something that I am meself, am I?!"

"Well, I'm not the one goin' around getting fucked in the arse, am I?!" I shut my eyes tightly and let out an irritated snort.

"You're a fucking prick."

"Least I'm not a bleedin' pouf!"

"You sure look like one when you're moaning out my name." John, then, pushed me hard up against the wall. I expected a blow to the face, shutting my eyes tightly in preparation.

Instead, he clashed his lips against mine.

I felt myself relax into the kiss, involuntarily pulling him closer; so much so my body was trapped in between his and the wall behind me. His lips then travelled down my neck, as he'd done days ago. 

"John, you can't fucking yell your head out at me like that and then just kiss me," I said, with half-lidded eyes, feeling his hands fumbling with the buttons on my shirt.

"Shh." His lips were on my chest, tongue grazing over one of my nipples, as he shoved his right hand down my trousers.

"I mean it," I said, firmly, but trailed off once I felt the warmth of his hand massaging my length over my underwear. 

"Do you?" He asked hoarsely, lowering my trousers and turning me around. I could hear the sound of him sucking on his own fingers. "You sure?"

I tried to hum a response but it came out as a moan, as I felt one of his fingers slide into me, gently grazing my prostate.

And there we go again.

★★★  

Everything was going well. John got over himself and our band started to see a little bit of success, so we decided to retire Macca & Johnny Boy, though we'd had our fair share of fun as them. We didn't need the extra money anymore. Summer holidays were approaching as the weather grew hotter; that night, I walked back home after an afternoon at the clearing in the woods with John, thinking nothing could ever ruin my good mood -- until I stepped inside and got an earful from my father.

My grades were slipping and he was beyond mad -- even though those had been enough to pass. He was also upset about me getting home late when I went out with John, sometimes even past midnight. He strictly prohibited me from seeing him outside of band matters; said he was lazy and a bad influence that would surely drag me down. I knew he wasn't entirely wrong, but I couldn't help but feel anger, yelling back at him that I wasn't a kid anymore and I knew what I was doing.

The next day, however, I talked him into letting me see John on Wednesday nights at home where he could keep his eyes on us. John, of course, didn't react well to the news, but I already had a plan in place.

I'd attend class in the morning and skip the wall over to the Art College at lunchtime. We'd walk to John's apartment, and spend the afternoon there, playing music or something else entirely unrelated, likely not involving any pieces of clothing.

"James, John..." My father, the only one to call me by my first name, appeared in the living room where I'd been showing the song I'd written with George, In Spite of All The Danger, to John. I wouldn't admit to it then, but I'd written the lyrics with John in mind.

"Yes, Mr. McCartney," said John through a sardonic smile; I pinched him under the table, reprimanding him. He'd been increasingly callous to my Dad since the whole "bad influence" thing had gone down.

"I'm going upstairs to rest. If you get hungry, supper's on the stove. Don't forget to lock the door when he leaves and wash the dishes, son." I nodded and watched him climb up the stairs.

"Off the trots," said John, eyes flickering between the stairwell and me. I sighed.

Fuck.

I knew that look. It was the same look he'd give me whenever we wanted to get away from wherever we were to find a place private enough to share a kiss, or something more. A look that almost always seemed to pull me down, down into a black hole. Usually, we'd exchange glances like this up on the stage. He unceremoniously crawled towards me, catlike, and settled himself on my lap, before beginning to plant kisses all over my neck.

"Mm, Johnny, no," I said, with lidded eyes, my hand finding its way to his waist, pushing him lightly.

"Shh." He bit down on my bottom lip, sliding a hand into my trousers. "I've been waiting all day to do this. He's not here."

"He could come down any second, John."

"You worry too much, y'know that, Macca?" He whispered into my ear, palming me through my underwear, drawing a few pleasured sighs from me in the process.

"What are you doing there?"

"This," he said, before pulling down my trousers and lowering himself to engulf my growing erection. I grabbed a fistful of his hair as I felt the pressure of the inside of his cheek against my tip, unable to hold back a few low moans.

Perhaps my best friend was a bit insatiable.

To be fair, though, it was understandable. Girls couldn't do to him what I could, and I was the only bloke willing to submit to that sort of intimacy with him. Not that he'd want some other bloke, though -- John had me in his mind at all times and all he wanted was to make up for lost time with past relationships that could never measure up to what we had. Maybe the danger involved was a part of it, too. Again, I'm not trying to boast, I'm simply relaying John's thoughts at the moment.

The fact was, he was growing more and more experienced and better. His tongue worked up my length all the way to my tip; his head bobbed up and down, making my hips involuntarily thrust to the rhythm he created, as his hands cupped and caressed my balls all at the same time. I bit down hard on my lip, the feeling of an orgasm pooling in my stomach. John didn't seem too pleased by the fact that I didn't quite have time to warn him, as he retreated with a frown, ready to berate me before we heard the sound of footsteps descending the stairs. I shoved a cushion onto my lap, shielding it from view.

"H-hi, Dad." I could feel all the colour drain from my face, beads of sweat forming on my forehead. Thankfully, Jim McCartney didn't seem interested in me at all, passing by us wordlessly as he went into the kitchen for a glass of water. I turned to John with a frown, silently telling him it was time for him to go. We gathered our things and I followed him to the front door, not saying a word until I was certain my father was upstairs.

"Fuck, Paul, did you have to come in me mouth?!" He said, as soon as he could.

"Shh!" I held my index finger to my lips, urging him to be quieter. "You caught me off guard!"

"So what are you, twelve? Don't you know when you're gonna' come?"

"Forget it." I shut the door behind us, leaning against it. "You know we can't do this at my house," I began, folding my arms over my chest. "Dad could'a showed up earlier, or Mike could have..."

"Whatever." He shrugged. "Sooner or later they'll find out ol' Paulie's a big pouf." I sighed and rolled my eyes.

"There you go again discussing my sexuality." I shot him an annoyed look, but I don't think he even really considered an offense. "Do you really wanna' start up on that again?"

"I'm jus' trying to figure out what the fuck's happening between us, is all." I sighed.

"Well, first off..." I began, taking out a cigarette and lighting it. I took a drag, and passed it to John. "I'm not queer. And if I am, then so are you." He seemed furious at the implication, so before he could say anything, I continued. "Ivan said the word for people like me is 'bisexual', actually. It means that you like girls, too."

"As much as boys?" John asked, brows drawn.

"I think it depends on the boy and the girl we're talkin' about. It's subjective." I shrugged, seizing back my cigarette. "I think it's the same? I dunno."

We stayed silent for a few minutes as John thought to himself and the two of us shared a cigarette. The bastard finished it in the blink of an eye, and I wondered how many smokes he had in one day.

"Well, that's horseshite. I don't like blokes," he declared, stubbing out the cigarette under his boot on my front lawn. "Just you. I just fancy you for some odd reason, and that's that. Maybe it's 'cause you look like Elvis, but more girly." I lifted an eyebrow at him. "But it's sort of a-- a friend thing, right?"

I nodded, same as I'd done before as we walked back from the clearing in the woods the first time. 

"Sure," I answered, shaking the thoughts far away in favour of more important ones. Fuck whatever John wanted to call his sexuality; things were good as they were. "It's a friend thing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yep, john's kind of a prick but he's also really confused so


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